Runaway
by Mirwalker
Summary: A first season, Apollo-connected ponder on what's to be done with all the Fleet's children. (Now with Helo-on-Caprica, at no extra cost!)
1. Chapter 1

_**Battlestar Galactica**_**: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

_This story takes place in the first season, between episodes 1.6 (_Litmus_) and 1.7 (_Six Degrees_)._

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE<strong>

The sharp clank and low shudder of the hard seal between the shuttle and the passenger liner reverberated through the seat under, the air around and the skin of Captain Lee Adama. Ship-to-ship docking was nothing new to this second generation viper pilot; but this connect, his sixth of the day, was sure not to be counted among his favorites.

He appreciated the President's interest in having his counsel, though he didn't feel he had much to offer her during this latest tour of civilian ships. She wanted to see for herself what conditions faced the survivors through the several dozen odd ships, to chart their needs and resources so that she'd have a better understanding in trying to balance them all. She also felt it important that the government and military be seen together as symbols of stability and security—the civil officials tasked with governing the remnants of human civilization and the Colonial officers tasked with protecting them.

He was braced for what new horrors awaited them on this ship—cramped quarters, sparse provisions, barely adequate sanitation if they were fortunate. It was the faces, perhaps, more than anything that he looked forward to least—drawn, tired, hunted, desperate, silently begging and simultaneously accusing. He had been braced for curses and questions about why the Fleet hadn't done that job better. It was a question with which he haunted himself some nights; but no one else had yet put him on that spot.

It helped, he knew, to keep the human perspective on the hard work he and his pilots did; but it was hard to face them nonetheless. President Roslin, tired as she was, seemed to draw strength and purpose from those same faces when she met them. Another reason he respected her courage and resolve.

But she wasn't here today. Her assistant, Billy, and he were alone on this initial survey, to gather information and make a report back to the President. In addition to bringing back their specialized reports, together they were also to help her select a few 'choice' ships to visit in person. Even in survival there was politics; and he couldn't wait to get out of the latter and let Keikeya and Roslin face those challenges directly.

While Mr. Keikeya attended to the civil and political priorities of each ship, Adama assessed their military/defensiveness condition—if the fleet was to continue for any length of time, they would need to rely on more than just the _Galactica _to protect them. They needed to know the capabilities of all ships in the fleet—what were their top and maximum sustainable speeds, whether they might host some armament, which ones could take what kind of beating from travel or attack, and which ones could and should be sacrificed if need be.

A quick pulse through the atmosphere and a whiff of an unfamiliar smell beat the shuttle pilot to announcing that the airlock was now open; and Adama followed Keikeya into the cramped ingress corridor of the passenger liner. '_Liner' is generous descriptor_, he thought to himself.

He could quickly tell that the _Maiden of the Stars_ was very likely among that final, expendable group of ships—only capable of mid-range jumps, well into its service life, etc. He took mental note of the threadbare upholstery, dated color scheme and actually smiled at the etched glass cabin dividers that had gone out of fashion about the time he outgrew diapers. This was clearly an economy ticket for those who'd bought passage for this intercolonial voyage; but it had been able to make The Fateful Jump, and so this little ship's passengers might have gotten the best bargain on salvation of any in the fleet.

They were greeted in the boarding lounge by that lucky ship's captain, who indicated that the first officer was currently at the controls, and that it was his honor to welcome the President and her entourage aboard. Flanking him were a few of the service stewards—actually, the three young women were probably _all_ of the cabin crew, as service saturation was not one of the hallmarks of this particular carrier. Also visible were a few more adventurous passengers who'd left their seats to crowd the aisle. They too seemed happy for the scrap of attention finally being paid them, as well as the excuse to get it up from their crowded seat-homes. Adama knew well, however, that all of the pleasantries would quickly give way to…

Shouting. Someone further into the seating cabin was shouting angrily. "…'Bout time someone paid us some mind! Did she bother to bring any decent food?"

The welcoming committee looked slightly embarrassed, but still quite agreeable to the sentiments and to having the question answered. They looked past Adama and Keikeya, clearly expecting more arrivals, one absent official in particular.

As he had on every other ship that day, the President's Chief of Staff (of one), took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and waded in. "The President regrets that she is not able to visit with you today in person; but I'd be more than happy to address what I can for you, and make sure she knows of all your concerns…"

Happy to let him do his job, Adama remained in the boarding lounge as the crowd absorbed Billy into the nearest passenger cabin, waiting until the coast was clear to begin doing his. As he looked down into his clipboard, Adama realized that not everyone had followed the crowd into the seating areas. At the bulkhead an older, portly man stood at apparent attention, as if waiting for Adama to do something. He also seemed a bit overdressed for a commercial pilot, his uniform replete with a motley collection of lapel medals and pins, a tarnished Colonial Fleet insignia among them.

Recognizing him as their host, the military attaché threw him a scrap of protocol respect, "Captain, permission to come aboard, sir?"

Brightening, the captain snapped a little more upright, gave a lingering salute, put out his hand for a vigorous shake, and launched into the remainder of his carefully prepared introduction: He had been a viper pilot many years before, but not career military. After the War, he'd wanted a little more freedom to see the Colonies, and signed up with the civilian lines. He now sees that he's needed again, and could get back to the excitement, the variety—and the important work of defending the fleet and kicking toaster ass.

Adama listened politely—happy for the distraction from Billy's chore, and scribbled the man's name on his notepad, with vague promises to keep him in mind as they looked for potential new, or renewed, fighter pilots.

Beaming with desperate gratitude, the passenger pilot thanked him and promised he wouldn't regret re-activating him to service. Stepping forward, he dropped his voice and looked Adama square in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, captain; I thank the gods we were mid-trip during the attack, and were able to last this long. But I'm wasted on this passenger barge, and I know I could be of more use out there than ferrying rowdy school kids."

Adama looked back up from his attentive doodling, "You have children aboard?"

"Yeah, couldn't just be business folk I'm stuck with; no, the Cylons had to attack the day I have dozens of school brats aboard."

Happy with a possible subject change, and hearing Billy struggling with the big questions of civilization in the background, Adama wondered, more than worried, what hordes of youngsters had done after weeks in an old, pressurized metal tube in space. Gesturing to his notepad, Adama looked around in further nonverbal indication he needed to move on. "Captain, I do have your information, and will pass that along; and we do appreciate your fine service in getting the _Maiden_ and her passengers out of harm's way. If you could point me in the direction of your horde, I'll see what we can do about them as well."

The Captain scowled as he nodded, "Rear cabin; can't miss them..." Shoving out his hand again eagerly at the chance of trading uniforms, he reiterated, "I know you won't regret calling me up, sir."

Adama smiled non-committally, and hurried aft.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long to locate the complained about classroom; the sounds of children didn't have much ship to travel, and would have been noticeable in a space of any size. Through the etched water-sailing ships that decorated the dividers, he could see little faces shifting in and out of view between clear and opaque glass, as volume levels waxed and waned with their constant conversation. Stepping into the cabin, he saw only two people standing taller than the seats; it was clear that the other adults onboard has ceded this compartment to the children, leaving only these stalwart few to shepherd them. Two women, haggard yet motherly, shifted along the center aisle, checking on small groups at work in the seats and on the floor between them.<p>

At the far end of the cabin, a young boy was looking down dejectedly as a third adult squatted before him, wiped his bleary eyes and running nose, and spoke sternly but warmly to him. Still sniffling, the boy responded to the indistinct address with an exaggerated nod of the head. The child's dark bowl cut stood in contrast to the light, tight curls of the man speaking with him, though both heads had clearly not been cut in some time. The boy started to wipe his nose on his sleeve and the man to take his arm, when he looked up and saw the colonial officer standing in the doorway. Ignoring whatever had just transpired, he gaped and pointed silently. The man tried to refocus his attention; but the boy would not be turned. "Soldier…," Lee saw him mouth to the man, as if explaining his reaction and confirming the vision for himself.

Without standing, the man glanced over his shoulder, perhaps suspicious of a distraction or skeptical of another misinterpretation of the flight crew's uniforms. First seeing the clear color and design of a Colonial uniform, the man exhaled and began to stand, bracing for some bad news. "Look, I already told the captain that I was really sorry about the dining—" He stopped in mid sentence, the boy, the 'racing cart' and in fact most everything else aboard the _Maiden_ forgotten in an instant. Taking a half-step forward, he whispered rhetorically, "Lee?"

Opposite him, the "soldier" needed no time to see past the bushy, reddish beard and dingy, once formal shirt. A brief drop of the jaw was quickly replaced with a drop of his clipboard and a jog forward, accompanied by an ecstatic shout of "Ran!"

The two men slammed into one another mid-cabin, and stumbled about briefly in a no-holds-barred embrace, as surprised and skittish children and chaperones gaped around, between and tentatively over steerage seats. A laugh welled up from the pair as they steadied, and finally held one another just far enough away to get another confirming look across smiles, shakes and even slightly watery eyes.

The civilian spoke first, a wobble not entirely hidden in his voice, "I thought you were… on the _Atlantia_."

The soldier shook his head and explained with a nervous laugh, "I was ordered to _Galactica _for the decommissioning as part of the PR—with Dad being the CO, and all. And you Mr Baresi? Teaching?"

The man wiped his own nose on his sleeve and nodded, "A few parents and I took the class on an overnight trip to the Science Museum on Picon; we were red-eyeing back to Aerilon when… when the attack came."

Adama bit his lower lip, and nodded knowingly. "And Pol?," he smiled in hopeful change of subject, peeking expectantly, even optimistically, beyond his friend's shoulder.

Baresi shook his head, "He would have been at work, I guess, since it was midday there. No word yet from the registry office. But, I…" He hung his head and looked away, unwilling to speak or face the likelihood.

"Ran, I'm sorry." Lately, the words grew infinitely more meaningless each time he heard or spoke them.

Baresi shrugged his best show of strength, "Everyone's lost people, Lee… What about you, any news on your mom or Gia-?"

"No," Lee interrupted, a bit too emphatically.

Long since having lost interest in the grown-ups quieted chat, a child screamed past, nearly slamming into them both. The teacher looked after her, a mix of irritation and amusement on his face. "At least we all have plenty of daily details to keep us pre-occupied from it."

Another, dark-eyed child came running over to show Baresi the detailed scribble he'd drawn on the back of an in-flight menu. Lee smiled politely, unsure exactly what the mass of graphite lines was supposed to be, while his friend studied it deeply and proudly pronounced it, "I think this is the best you've done yet, Lorn. Do you think we should hang it with the others?"

The boy glowed with pleasure at the praise and apparent privilege, and nodded immodestly. Baresi pointed him toward the walls nearest where Adama had entered, which Lee could now see were covered in similarly scribbled masterpieces on all sorts of scrap paper.

Lee smiled at the simple glee and noted, "I don't get it, Ran. They love you…"

Baresi laughed at the implicit insult, smiling after the student. With clear adoration for the motley collection, he conceded, "That they're loving speaks more to their quality than mine… Working with them is a lot of work; but it can be immensely humbling and educational. It's really amazing how straightforward and insightful they can be. Unlike us adults, you never have to wonder what's on their minds, no need to guess what they're feeling."

As if on cue, a peal of bubbly laughter echoed from a few rows away; and the cabin seemed to grow lighter as it rippled past.

"And what about you, flyboy? If memory serves, that's a CAG insignia. You also get to stand in front of a group of subordinates, telling them what to do day-to-day and being responsible for whether and how well they produce. Our roles aren't that different you know, in some ways."

"Except that your crew doesn't drink, smoke or carry weapons."

"That's why I wouldn't teach middle school," Baresi smiled; and they broke into laughter as when they had been the schoolkids. "It's so good to see you again, Lee. I can't tell you how encouraging it is to know you made it through, and are out there protecting us. And we all need all the hope we can get these days."

Adama nodded and gazed out at the anthill of activity the two dozen or so little people managed to squeeze into the small space. "Speaking of hope, how would you feel about having another visitor? Someone with a little more experience and influence than me?"

Baresi recognized the grin on his friend's face, and smiled nervously at whatever plot was brewing behind it.

* * *

><p>The <em>Maiden's <em>eager crowd was again present when the President actually arrived the next shipboard afternoon. Rather than compete with the adults, Adama and Keikeya had arranged to have her briefly run the gauntlet and then join the schoolchildren in their own compartment. Lee wanted her to see the conditions they were living in firsthand; and Billy wanted to have better control over the media and other interactions. So, on coming out of the airlock and greeting the crowd, the President turned aft and headed toward a smaller audience several spaces back.

Lee stepped in first and Roslin behind him, to find a freshly shaven, smiling young man flanking a rowdy row of school kids three bodies deep. "Madame President, I'd like to introduce my friend, Terran Baresi, and his second grade class."

Their eyes caught more by the bright lights and microphones of the two reporters who circled quickly around for presidential reaction shots, the children paid Roslin little attention until their teacher prompted, "Class, let's give a warm welcome to the leader of the Colonies of Kobol, President Laura Roslin."

With no unity of timing, enthusiasm or comprehension, they shrieked as practiced, "Good afternoon, Madame President!"

"Good day, students," she beamed back–as happy and healthy looking as Lee or Billy had seen her since That Day. She gripped her hands at her waist to keep from throwing her arms out to them, covering her mouth in happy surprise, or grabbing onto anyone nearby for excited support. In that moment, she remembered her own pupils through the years: bright faces anxious on the first day of the new year, scribbled and food-stained homework, normally wagging tongues lightly bitten to help with concentration on particularly tough math or spelling exercises…. So many little lives had come her way during her classroom years, so much energy, openness, hope and potential. And in stark contrast to their sudden, recent absence, she was again surrounded by a fresh sea of lives just begun.

To help her and the little ones focus, Baresi kept the meeting moving. "And, everyone, you remember Captain Lee Adama. He's the CAG, the head pilot, aboard the _Galactica_."

"You actually fly the vipers?" exclaimed one child, on behalf of many excited faces. "That's frakking cool!"

The other children looked shocked, but in total agreement, and instantly and entirely lost interest in the President and the cameras.

Billy's face dropped in shock, not sure whether to intervene with the child or the President. Lee bit his lip in amusement, both at the profanity and the child's enthusiasm for his work. Roslin's face didn't change at all, as she continued to bask in the uncensored, carefree honesty of these futures of humanity.

For his part, Baresi blushed and clamped a firm hand on the child's shoulder, "Kalin, language!" His words indicated that the admonition was not new; and so the youngster should know better. Turning to the dignitaries without releasing the offender, Baresi continued, "Madame President, Captain, please excuse Mr. Carson's… exuberance; we've heard stories of the Colonial forces obviously and caught a few glimpses out the portholes; but most of them haven't met any direct players to date."

Nodding perfunctorily, Roslin looked at her Captain to see how he wished to respond. Grinning himself, he glanced from her to his friend to the profaner, stepped forward and squatted to look the child eye-to-eye. "It's Kalin, isn't it?"

The child's eyes lit up at being known to the warrior, and nearly shook his head off his shoulders.

"Well," continued Lee, "At some point soon, we're going to need some additional viper pilots for the Fleet. Do you know of anyone who might be brave enough, and smart enough, and strong enough to do that?" He glanced about at the other eager faces. "Where might those pilots be?"

The class erupted into a cacophony of "Me!," raised hands, bouncing bodies and squeals of utter, desperate delight. Drowned by the shouts, Lee looked about the sea of faces, pointing and asking, "You? Ok. You? Alright…"

Watching the scene as teacher and leader, Roslin beamed even more broadly than before. This was her element; and the children's excitement was contagious. These were the clientele of her former career; they now were the constituents of everyone's future. Looking at Baresi, she saw him smiling contentedly, though more on Captain Adama's actions than those of the class. Curious, pleased, but ever professional, she asked, colleague-to-colleague, "Mr. Baresi, may I…?"

He nodded, "Of course, Madame President," and gestured her into the cabin.

She took her temporary role easily, and invited the children to follow her, "Let's sit down; shall we? I want to hear what you've all been up to."

As the short crowd parted and then tumbled around her as she waded into their midst, she nodded a quick thanks to their teacher, and tossed a heartfelt smile of gratitude to her personal military advisor. With his having recognized and arranged the afternoon's excursion, she was pleased with having chosen him….

Deferring class management to his colleague and head of state, Baresi leaned against the bulkhead, simply watching Roslin reading to, quizzing and answering questions for the students.

After returning to the raptor to update _Galactica_ on their likely extended stay, Adama stepped up behind his friend and joined his smile at the serene scene. He clasped Baresi by the shoulders, shook him jokingly, and whispered, "She's better with them than you are."

Baresi smiled wryly, saying, "Thanks… She's a new face, with different stories. She's also very good."

"But…?

"But soon enough, her novelty will wear off; and they'll be looking for the next source of amusement… She and I, we aren't enough for these few, much less the other children in the fleet."

Both all too clear about the short and long-term challenges that lay ahead of them, the children and the fleet, they silently agreed to simply enjoy the nostalgic scene before them. Larger problems later.

* * *

><p>Nearly two hours later, and more than an hour over schedule, Billy was finally able to interrupt the President sufficiently to convince her it was time to go. Noting the hour and slowly dropping energy level, even her Military Advisor suggested, "Madame President, we really need to get the raptor back."<p>

She bit her lip and looked around at the cloud of small faces before her. She so clearly did not want to leave this familiar, happy role for the harsh reality to which the children were oblivious enough. Nodding with resignation, she closed the book in her lap and stood slowly, "Well thank you all; this has been the most enjoyable storytime I've had in a long time…"

Baresi interrupted, "Before you go, Madame President, the children have a little something for you. We don't have supplies to make you anything, so we've prepared a little song for you to remember us by."

Ushering the motley class back through the cabins to the airlock, and then prying a few hands loose from the President to join the waist-high ranks, Baresi finally gathered them into a makeshift school choir to send her off as in the older days.

At his signal, and almost simultaneously, multiple unpracticed voices shared a tune familiar to all the ears present:(1)

_Kobol's children, twelve are we._

_Joined in our humanity:_

_A dozen worlds, no single sun._

_Singing now, our voices one._

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><p>To one side of <em>Galactica<em>'s CIC, a series of blinking lights erupted in Lt. Gaeta's face. Without turning he shouted to all ears, first in alarm, then outright shock, "DRADIS contact…! Within the fleet!"

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><p><strong>NOTES:<strong>

1. The children's rhyme is my own creation; but the astronomy and planetary features are based on canon references, including an amazing, semi-canonical map of the Twelve Colonies star systems, reported on io9 dot com on 24 January 2011.

_With several works actively in progress, I invite you to subscribe for story alerts to stay updated on this one. Reviews and constructive feedback always welcome, and always encourage more writing!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Battlestar Galactica: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

_NOTE: This chapter contains very brief, non-graphic descriptions of some nonetheless disturbing scenes._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2.<strong>_

The students began their second verse, a little more unified as they settled into its simple rhythm:

_Fields of Caprica, Picon's seas,_

_Mounts of Tauron, songs in Gemonese…_

Roslin again clutched her hands excitedly, both overjoyed at the sounds of happy singing, and sickened at how sadly rare these children's voices now were in the universe. This was her first truly happy moment in literal months.

Still mouthing the words to prompt his impromptu performers, Ran returned Lee's congratulatory smile, both clear on how much this performance meant—to the President, and to the Fleet and species more generally. Sensing motion beside him, Baresi turned and nodded to the beaming Mrs. Lato, mother of pig-tailed (and entirely tone deaf) D'neese. He knew the two moms who had been traveling with him appreciated this distraction as much as he did, occupying the children for an afternoon, and giving them all a reason to smile for that happiness.

Having proudly surveyed the other audience members for himself, Adama was just turning back toward to the pending refrain, when the cabin pitched suddenly and a quick sequence of thuds, shudders and pops were replaced by gasps and shrieks as the song and scene quickly disintegrated into chaos.

As everyone scrambled to right themselves, the proud woman beside Baresi fell to the ground differently than everyone else had, and a rapidly reddening blouse accompanied the next symptom of something gone horribly wrong: a swirling wind swept through the cabins, as lighting flickered and cheap plastic masks dropped limply from panels above every seat.

Instinctively shoving the President toward her suited security detail, Lee was struck, literally, by a book or something, which slammed into and bounced off him toward the fore cabin. Raising his arms to fend off anything following, he quickly deduced that no one had thrown anything at him, and so turned to follow the flight of the projectile. Following the book and number of other small objects along their wild trajectories, his eye was led to a small, ragged, sparking hole in the bulkhead. _Cabin puncture, from the exterior_, he deduced quickly. _Projectile weapon. Attack!_

Turning toward the President, he saw that her security had dragged her to the floor, and were now inching her toward the hatch and waiting raptor. He first thought she was screaming and struggling in pain, before realizing that she was ordering them to ignore her and see to the children.

* * *

><p>"Two contacts; definite bogies. They've made along the President's current location, and appear to be turning for a second pass."<p>

"Get the CAP in there, now. Scramble ready vipers, set Condition One throughout the fleet."

* * *

><p>The passenger liner continued to shake with a new and irregular rhythm, as children, adults and escaping atmosphere screamed under the whirling debris.<p>

Adama herded the several children closest to him into the waiting raptor behind the President, over the pointless protests of her security officers.

He shouted to the ECO as the pilot frantically worked to keep the attached smaller ship in relative location to the larger liner, "What the frak is going on?"

"Two bogeys out of nowhere; CAP is responding!" Looking up from her boards, as two children latched onto her, she stated unnecessarily, "We've got to push…"

Nodding, Lee made eye contact with the President, who clutched a half-dozen terrified children huddled around her. Looking out into the chaos of the corridor, he tossed in another few children and ordered, "You're full, so get well clear; no heroics. Jump if you have to; just get the President out of here!" He slammed the liner's door shut, a final exclamation on the importance of his order and their cargo.

Comforted that the head of government was safe to the best of his ability, he set his jaw and turned the next crowding youngster toward the escape pod hatch back down the bulkhead, glancing through the whipping winds for his friend. Wading into the strobing, wind-whipped cabins, he shouted "Lifepods. Everybody to the lifepods!"

Lighting and gravity plating flashed intermittently, as shudders of additional damage or launching escape capsules rippled through deck. Adama stepped over the body of the schoolmother, scooping up the child who shouted and pulled at her pointlessly. Shoving her gently into the arms of an overwhelmed cabin steward, he pointed the young woman toward an open evac chamber and herded a few additional children and adult passengers in with her. "Let your training take over," he counseled loudly, hoping she'd had enough to kick in.

Still no sign of Baresi, Adama moved toward the schoolroom at rear of the ship. Turning into the corridor, he disentangled himself from a piece of fabric that had caught on his leg, and realized the howl of escaping atmosphere died down abruptly in this room.

At the far end of the space, Baresi climbed carefully over art-littered rows of seats, moving steadily and reaching toward a point near the rear overhead bins.

"Ran!" screamed Adama, trying to catch his friend's attention over the whistling air and alarms, wondering why he hadn't gotten himself to one of the few remaining escape pods. Then he saw the teacher's goal: There, hanging limply in one of the "luxury" portholes—"your window to the stars," was a small figure. Just small enough to be sucked up into the damaged opening, the outspoken Kalin Carson had been just too large to go through; oddly bent, bruised and at least unconscious, he was wedged in enough to nearly seal the breach.

Sympathetic but realistic, Lee sighed and shouted, "Ran, she's not going to last much longer; we need to move!"

"Then help me," his friend responded, making clear he wasn't leaving without the last of his wards.

Knowing arguing wouldn't save any time or lives now, Adama ripped out several of the flimsy seat cushions in the front row, and rushed down the aisle.

With equal urgency and care, Baresi forced hands between the pinned child and the edges of the hole, grimacing at both the exertion needed and the ragged surfaces. As he was able to shift the child ever so slightly, Adama helped gently pull the boy away and jam the cushions into the hungry void.

Structural creaking signaled their time was increasingly short, as Adama shoved a handy piece of baggage onto his makeshift plug and turned to follow Baresi, already awkwardly heading to the aisle murmuring comforting words to them all as the artificial gravity finally died.

One bloody arm clutching the battered little form to his chest, Ran literally climbed up the aisle head down, bracing his feet on the seat frames and pulling himself forward with his other arm. Lee pushed from behind, doubling their leverage against the sudden weightlessness.

As the ship's vibrations increased, the cushions and bag behind them disappeared into space; and the quick outrush of remaining air resumed. A large something, finally shaken or pulled loose from its place of origin, hurtled their way from another cabin, and exploded through the glass divider ahead of them. Baresi reacted in time to turn quickly, shielding his care and colleague from the spray of shards that hurtled past. Grunting from multiple, piercing impacts, Baresi toppled into Adama, who pivoted over and around him, taking the lead in the odd flight to safety. Coaching and pulling as he backed up the aisle, the pilot kept them moving toward the intercabin lounge.

And finally reaching the tiny refuge, Lee was relieved when the more-together steward reached out to him. He pulled Ran and the boy in on top of him, and kicked at the jettison buttons. The doors slid shut; and a quick jostle and the comforting pull of gravity and hiss of air indicated the breathless group had achieved a significantly higher level of safety.

If they hadn't just launched into debris, a firefight or empty space from which the fleet had already jumped to safety…

* * *

><p>"CAP reports one raider destroyed; the second jumped away."<p>

"This strike was surgical," stated Tigh for the record.

That such precision also meant the Cylons knew exactly where the entire fleet was, needed not be said. It did lead to one explicit conclusion, which the Commander named, "Make the jump as soon as all small craft are accounted for."

* * *

><p>The last to jump away from the crippled liner, the battlestar had been safe harbor for the Presidential raptor and the small swarm of escape pods that had launched with her. Littered about the landing bay with the CAP vipers that had guarded them to the last moment, the pods were quickly towed to docking ports there or to flight elevators for descent to the hangar decks below.<p>

As one such pod opened, Apollo leapt out, a whimpering child in his arms. Speaking to the first uniform he saw, he asked, "Gleason, did the President's raptor make it aboard?"

The petty officer responded quickly, taking the stunned girl gently from him, "Yes sir; she's docked on the flight deck. We're focusing on about a dozen pods, most hard-landed."

Helping other children down from the adult-sized hatch, he stated what was obviously already well underway. "Let's just get them off, triaged for Sickbay and put them somewhere for right now."

Arms full of the wide-eyed and unexpected ward, the crewman stammered, "Actually, sir, I was sent down here to look for you, sir; we presumed you'd be on the raptor... You're wanted in the CIC pronto." Instinctively, he rocked and patted the young girl who now latched onto him.

Pausing in his fireline work, Apollo looked about him at the chaos of several capsules spilling shocked children and adults into the cramped hangar. Behind him, Baresi carefully lifted a too still form through the airlock, his own glasses cracked and both their clothing shredded and bloodied. His friend made emotionless eye contact, clearly not paying attention to anything beyond his immediate care.

Swallowing hard, Lee touched his friend on the shoulder and turned him toward Gleason. "Ran. Ran? I've got to go, but will come back as fast as I can. Gleason here will get you and the kids to the Sickbay."

Still no indication of comprehension.

Taking his friend's face gently but firmly in hand, Apollo persisted in breaking through, "Terran, I need you to go with Gleason. Do you hear me?"

Still with no sign of recognition on his scratched and bloodied face, Baresi nodded obediently.

Gleason did not protest, but held out one arm to direct the ragged man and crowd of huddled children toward the ship's interior.

As he headed forewards while the crowd gradually funneled toward Sickbay, Apollo heard an announcement over the loudspeaker, "All hands, stand down from FTL jump."

* * *

><p>A quiet hum hung over the CIC, as they settled back into real space.<p>

Petty Officer Dualla broke the silence with welcome words, "All ships jumped and accounted for, sirs. _Maiden of the Stars_, excepted."

Colonel Tigh stepped up to the status table, joining Commander Adama and Lt Gaeta already there. "Apollo said that ship didn't have long to go anyway; the fleet may be faster and better off without her. And just three dead from this kind of attack, that's a gods-damned miracle…"

"At least three," the Fleet Commander corrected, his matter-of-factness belying more grief than his XO's passionate description. All caught his meaning, and were caught short by the fact of that minimum loss.

Several minutes later, Apollo and Roslin entered into that lingering silence. One hand wiping his face—the top of a wide, bloody line stretching down the front of his duty jacket, the CAG helped the President down the CIC steps. Commander Adama, closest to them, stepped over and offered his hand to Roslin, catching Lee's eye at the same time.

As Roslin took the hand, more of courtesy than need, Lee answered the unasked question and changed the subject. "I'm fine. What happened?"

With everyone now at the table, Adama nodded to Gaeta to summarize.

"Two Cylon raiders jumped into the fleet, almost directly ahead of the _Maiden_, and proceeded to strafe her ventral and dorsal lengths several times before the CAP was able to destroy one and drive the other off."

Once again showing why she shouldn't be under-estimated, even on tactical issues, Roslin cut to the point. "And do we know how it is they knew precisely where I'd be when, and could jump that precisely into the middle of the moving fleet?"

Tigh continued his own commentary, "We've got a much bigger infiltration problem than we'd thought. Somebody, or bodies, knows a helluva a lot, and can get them that good information out pretty damn fast."

Modeling a cooler head, Commander Adama kept his eyes on Gaeta, indicating he should continue.

Laying out a rough map of the pre-jump Fleet, the Lieutenant continued his guided tour of the debacle. "They jumped in too close for missiles, so it was literally dogfight mode. They fired on the bridge first, to disable any possible reaction by the flight crew; then peppered the fuselage with shots on the way toward the engines. Short of dropping in dead astern and firing directly into the sublights, they couldn't have been more precise in their execution of the ship."

The ranking officer added a final summation that included his unique brand of subtle praise for his crew. "Only having the two vipers on Presidential detail allowed the raiders to be distracted long enough to get most everyone off."

"How many people did we lose?" Roslin asked.

"Rough count is that more than a hundred got out in capsules," semi-answered Gaeta.

"How many people did we _lose_?" she repeated.

The Commander looked to Gaeta, who glanced at Dualla. Referencing her console, she stated simply, "Ship's census was one hundred thirty-four souls."

Glancing at a report sitting on the status table before them, the junior Adama clarified further, "Flight control reports bringing aboard eleven escape pods plus your raptor, Madame President. The pods are rated for ten adults each."

The survival algebra hung palpably under the DRADIS console.

Preferring to focus on what could and needed to be addressed, Adama brought the meeting to a clear close, with two final instructions, "Let's get a headcount of who we've got, so we can figure out what to do with them. Colonel Tigh, let's make one more jump, just in case."

Catching Lee's arm as the group disbanded, the elder Adama asked his son, "How is Terran?"

"He got showered with debris, like we all did, but I think was OK. He's with one of the children, who didn't look good. I'd like to get back to them in Sickbay."

Adama nodded. "I'd like to see him, when we can."

"I'll let him know. He'll appreciate the concern." _And so do I_, he thought, knowing the question and concern included more than just his childhood friend.

Apollo nodded to the President, who smiled after him, jogged up the stairs and smoothed down his hair as he continued the quick pace down the corridor.

Adama turned to the Roslin, "Are you sure we don't need to get you to Sickbay?"

She smiled and took off her glasses, "I'm fine, Commander, thank you. My security detail and Captain Apollo made sure I was safely on the raptor immediately." Looking off where Apollo had gone, she admired, "And then your son went back for his friend."

* * *

><p>Several decks away, the orderly pointed Apollo into the curtained cubicle, and shook his head solemnly.<p>

Lee stopped short on stepping into the small space. Before him, Baresi sat with his bloodied back to the entry—his shirt more rags than garment now, and his back covered in darkening scratches and cuts. _"Scars are private medals for small battles survived and victories won,"_ his father had once told him. _Congratulations, Ran_, he thought.

But the small, fully draped form lying in front of his friend made it clear that these wounds would likely never signify victory for Baresi.

Lee approached quietly and pulled up a seat directly beside him. He noted that Ran's hands were bandaged from wrist to fingertips as if he wore gauze oven mitts; and they sat as still as the rest of him. Ran stared blankly onto the form before him, giving no indication that he realized Lee was present.

They sat for several moments, in silent vigil—both for the children, and Lee also for his hurting friend. Finally, Lee felt compelled to break the quiet, "'I'm sorry' falls so short, Ran…" _Again_.

Ran didn't react; and Lee wondered whether he should repeat himself or even do something more to bring Ran out of his reverie. "I wish that I had trusted the President to her guards… If I'd focused on the kids… Maybe…"

"No," Baresi cut him off before he could theorize any further. Without looking over, Baresi spoke in a quiet, but quite calm voice, "The President is your responsibility; the children are mine." Having reminded himself of that obligation, he paused and smiled at its irony. "I never expected to be a father, Lee. Much less a single parent. And of _twenty-seven,_" he laughed slightly.

Lee smiled with him, surprised himself at that turn of events, and nervous also at where Ran was going with this unexpected reaction.

Baresi's laugh quickly turned into a barely controlled sob, as the past hour came to a head. "And now, to have lost one…" His voice trailed off in more of a question than statement, and he began to roll off his stool perch.

As the well-practiced, professionally-required stoicism fell away from his all-but-brother's face, Lee pulled him into a fierce embrace, holding him up and letting him mourn the lost child, his left-behind partner and their larger state of affairs. As Baresi screamed hoarsely into his shoulder, shaking in alternating waves of rage and impotence against a pitiless universe, Lee could identify with the pressure Ran must have felt to be strong and confident for his wards, with the need to support them in their time of pain by ignoring his own. He could only imagine, however, having mainly children for company through that difficulty. What horror masterpieces Ran must have wanted to draw in colored wax over the past months. Playing anchor to his life-long friend, Lee did not allow himself to join in the grief beyond the tears in his own eyes; in this moment, he would simply share his strength.

When they finally pulled apart, Ran grimaced slightly at the painful cost of the embrace to his wounded back.

Not needing Ran to voice appreciation for the safe space in which to be vulnerable, and needing no such payment for something freely given, Lee nodded at him in pro-active acknowledgement, and in simple question. Baresi nodded back, the transaction complete, assuring his friend that he was well enough now. Offering a tissue from a nearby medical tray, Lee suggested, "We need to get the rest of you looked at."

The self-indulgent moment passed, Baresi wiped his face dry and returned to his duty, "I need to see them."

Nodding, Lee gathered a few more tissues, and explained, "They've all been seen to and given a little something to eat. We didn't think it wise for them to hang out here, so as soon as it was clear the Cylons weren't following, a few pilots took them over to the starboard pod museum as part of a tour of the ship. They were going to end with a VIP tour of the active flight deck."

Baresi nodded at the comfort of knowing his wards were being seen after.

Protective in his own way, Lee added, "The pilots love the attention as much as the kids do; and I thought we might let them enjoy that a little while and give you a little longer break. Since we don't really have spare family quarters per se, someone suggested a sleepover in the gym?"

"We'll see," smiled the schoolteacher, imagining the sight of children taking reassurance from fighter pilots, who in turn were fueling up on a little hero worship. "Let's see how they're doing, and let them see that I'm OK before breaking out the campfire snacks."

* * *

><p>TBC... <em>(With several works actively in progress, I invite you to subscribe for story alerts to stay updated on this one. Reviews and constructive feedback always and especially welcome, and always encourage more writing!)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**Battlestar Galactica: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

As they stepped onto the hanger deck, Lee and Ran could hear the high-pitched giggles echoed by the deeper laughs of the pilots and deck crew. Lee snuck a look at his friend, relieved to see a more comfortable smile appear on his face. Once again, and despite the horrors of just the past few hours, who couldn't resist taking some happy relief from the joyful sound?

Lee also noticed that, while fully covered, Ran was actually dressed only in bloodstained pants and a medical smock. Pulling him aside, he whispered, "I don't think they need to see you in your skivvies."

Glad that Lee had not been so eager to see the children that he'd also missed this important detail, Ran smiled a "thanks" and slipped stiffly into the proffered jumpsuit.

As he zipped up the dirty, but fully-covering outfit, Lee reminded him of a few other facts that might make the pending reunion go a little more smoothly. "Several of them weren't distracted enough by the tour and pilots, and asked about their missing class members. They've been told that you're fine and with everyone at the doctor's. The surviving mother and the… other woman's little girl are with a priestess. Best we can do."

Baresi nodded at the soundness of the actions amid the sadness, still not entirely confident himself in the harsh reality of the day's events. Though he couldn't have imagined any of it, even after everything else that had happened, he was glad to have Lee in the nightmare with him. He hadn't anticipated that reunion either; but that familiar presence gave him a renewed hope he wouldn't have survived the day without.

With a pep-talk slap to the arm, Adama pronounced him presentable, and steered him toward their waiting audiences.

The relative calm of rapt attention was shattered as the children saw their teacher approaching with his pilot friend. A chorus of voices followed on the thumping heels as their orderly circle beside the viper disintegrated into a mob rush on him and a showering of him with updates and questions.

"Mr. Baresi!"

"Are you OK, Mr. Baresi?"

"Jina said the f-word!"

"Your glasses are broken."

"What's wrong with your hands?"

"We're getting call-signeds, Mr. Baresi!"

Ran gave a few light hugs and head tousles with bandaged hands as the class crowded around him excitedly. Shooting a stern look at the offending girl, he chose to focus on the positives for the time being. "Call_signs_, Lorn, pilots have call-signnnnns."

"Mine's 'Lizard'," gleamed the little boy, oblivious to the corrected pronunciation.

And the rest of the group decided that this was the perfect moment to also share their own pilot monikers and their opinions on those of their classmates. Simultaneously.

"I'm Butterfly!"

"Cookie!"

"Call me Viper!"

"You can't be 'viper;' that's what the ships are called!"

Relieved to be back with the class and see them all well—no, almost all of them well, Baresi was also a little overwhelmed at their need to again be near, touching and attended to by him. Reading that struggle in his friend, Lee waded in beside him and shouted, "Hey, hey, hey! I would hope that my pilots and crew would have told you that your callsign should mean something specific for you, tell people something about you."

The boy apparently now called Lizard stuck his tongue out at the CAG, while simultaneously explaining, "I alwaths thtick muh tunk out. I am a lithart!"

One little girl stood quietly beside Lee, and tugged gently on his uniform jacket. "What does yours mean, Captain Apollo? Are you a god?" She looked skeptical. "Are you going to make Kalin, and D'Neese, and the missuses OK?"

No adult in the space ever remembered the hangar being as quiet as it was in that moment, as all eyes, grown and growing, turned on the ranking officer. Word had obviously spread, across all ages and developmental levels, about the missing classmates and chaperones. The cover story had handled their absence until now; but the few, quick words could only satisfy for so long.

_From the doubly-blunt mouths of Aerilon babes_, thought Lee, as his mind started at the sharp and child-logical connection the girl had made, and reeled at how to possible respond honestly and carefully. A new story, true or... creative was needed. Now.

As he had on the President's visit, Lee turned toward his interrogator and squatted again, having learned that this helped engage the children more effectively. "Jina, isn't it?"

She nodded matter-of-factly, unimpressed at his short-term recall of her name. Her clutched doll looked at him with a similarly dry expectation.

"No, I'm not a god; that's just a nickname. …Like 'Lizard'—he isn't really a lizard, just a nickname."

Lizard's immediately protruding tongue apparently took issue with that distinction.

Baresi interrupted, maintaining the focus on the military tradition, and away from the missing classmates. "Captain Adama and I grew up together. And I gave him that callsign when we were your age, playing Colonial and Cylon in the neighborhood. It just stuck into his Academy days."

"Why 'Apollo'?" persisted another boy, showing the keen insight of young curiosity wasn't limited to a single student.

"Because he was one of the smartest and strongest people I knew," answered the teacher, long committed to being honest with his students. As Lee blushed and the deck crew cooed softly, Baresi withheld the "handsome" attribute for which the synonymous god was also known.

"What was yours, Mr. Baresi?" interrupted yet another loquacious youngster.

"Run, Ran, Runaway!" shouted a new voice, approaching from deeper in the hangar bay, followed by its owner, as Lt. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace rounded the nose of the viper. "Apollo's little brother gave him the nickname, because it was what he did when they played. True to his name, when Zak the Cylon showed up, your Mr. Baresi 'ran.'"

Eyes of all sizes shifted to the new arrival, and then back to the target of her honest, but still mocking revelation.

"Technically, I would act as bait, luring Cylon Zak into Apollo's firelines. But Zak felt that framing that as 'runaway' evened up the score a little bit, since we always made him be the toaster. How're you doing, Starbuck?" smiled Baresi.

"Better than you look, Teach," she grinned back.

He gave her a good-to-see-you-too nod, as the children grew bored with the nostalgia of the adults' conversation, and turned their attention to either the welding across the hangar or the promised chance to sit in the fighter's cockpit. "I wanna sit in the Viper!" screamed someone, and they all crowded back to the plane echoing the same demand.

As the adults moved back to the bird with them, Baresi recognized the deck boss's uniform and double-checked, "Chief, is it wise to let them sit in the control seat of the fighter?"

Beaming at the adoring clamor, Tyrol assured, "This one's just coming off repairs, no juice for the engines or weapons. Climbing in and out's as dangerous as it gets; and my crew are carefully watching your babies. And ours."

"What do the numbers on the side mean? What is '1026'?"(1) asked a little boy, suddenly present beside them.

Baresi and Adama both looked expectantly to Tyrol, deferring to his expertise on his babies.

"Well, it's the identifier for that specific plane," he explained, trying not to give too technical a description. "It lets us tell which viper is which, since they all look the same to most folks." He pointed to the different numbers on the upper engine of the nearest several vipers.

"Machines have numbers; people have names," added Starbuck as she joined the group. "Cylons are bad machines without names; vipers are good machines without names."

The Chief instinctively bristled a little at the connection made between the Cylons and his birds, even with the favorable good-bad distinction.

Satisfied, or noticing something more interesting elsewhere, the boy ran back to the other students who jockeyed for a place in line for a cockpit sit, to hang from a wing or to look down the gun barrel.

Before the adults could renew their conversation, Thrace felt a presence at her side, and looked down to find two pair of dark eyes staring up at her.

"My dolly likes you," said the quiet, but confident voice of the larger face.

"That's great, kid," dismissed Starbuck.

"Do you like her?" the child persisted.

"Sure," lied the pilot, looking around to see if one of the other adults would rescue her from this pint-sized interaction. But they were all watching her fan club meeting with great and poorly disguised amusement.

"You're not even looking at her. You haven't asked her name."

"Fine," conceded the pilot, squatting and making an exaggerated effort to stare at the limp, blue-gowned figure being pushed toward her. "What's her name?"

"Kara."

Thrace's irritation evaporated, as she tried to think whether that name had been said aloud by one of the pilots or deck crew. Not that she'd heard. Was it on her uniform? No, she wasn't even wearing her flightsuit top. Where the frak had this annoying kid heard her name? "Where did she get that name?" she finally asked, with forced nonchalance.

"She says it," explained Jina, running her fingers through the doll's stringy blondish hair, and settling herself comfortably against the surprised Starbuck. "When I have a good battery, she says a lot of things. Her old battery ran out on Picon, so she was quiet for a long time since then; but the President's man brought me a new battery when she came to visit us. It was good to hear Kara again. But," the little girl looked at the namesake she didn't realize, "they told me not to waste this battery, so I don't keep it in all the time. Would you like to hear her?" she offered.

"No, that's OK…"

Not having waiting for answer, Jina pushed a button on the figurine's back, and it uttered a wavering, "Hi! I'm Kara; let's be friends."

"Two Kara's?" pondered Lee, as Thrace gawked dubiously. "I'm not sure _Galactica_'s big enough for two. And then there's the trouble of telling them apart."

"Actually, yours would never be caught out in a dress," corrected Baresi with a gleeful grin. "And one only speaks on command; so I know which one I'd vote on keeping…"

Hearing the insults, but still too stunned to hurl a more typical "Frak you" at the schoolteacher, Starbuck recovered enough to nod to the fighters parked around them, "I think I like my toys better." Hoping to further divert the small and large attention from the unnerving introduction and the ribbing, she stood up and suggested to the girl, "Don't you wanna take your turn in the viper? All the other kids are doing it…" She had never been inherently interested in conversations with little people, and was increasingly unnerved by this particular one.

"Ok," begrudged the little girl, both disappointed and somehow not surprised at the grown up's lack of interest in her and her small friend. "Kara still likes you, Ms Starbuck."

As the adult grimaced after her, Jina stepped over to the big ship just in time to be immediately helped into the seemingly oversized seat by a friendlier grownup who introduced herself as "Callie." Her focus successfully redirected, Jina set down the doll, and let the brightly clad adult buckle her in as she strained to reach any of the lifeless buttons and switches around her.

Still with the adults, Kara glared once at a smugly grinning Lee, and turned away to bite her lip and brood on the strange child and toy.

Callie had just hovered the huge helmet over the child's head, when they heard a shout from the flightdeck, "Alright, now that everybody's had a chance to sit in the viper and see the raptor, we're going to head on to our next stop on the tour. Who wants t-shirts?"

A symphony of "Me!"s and "Yay!"s erupted from below the high walls of the fighter's cockpit. More interested in not missing out on new clothes and sights than in the unresponsive controls and smelly oversized seat of the flying ship, Jina batted away the big hat and wriggled through the restraints without having to unbuckle them. Clambering out of the giant seat, she all but leapt into the arms of another deckhand, who lowered her, legs already running, to the deck.

"They get shirts?" asked Baresi, as the small herd rumbled away toward the museum again.

Tyrol explained without taking his eyes off each piece of equipment the mob rambled past, "One of the last supply runs we got before… Well before, was the first shipment of souvenirs for the gift shop. We've already commandeered the adult clothes for our crew, but not the child sizes. Better to let kids use them than cut 'em up for rags. Do you think they'd all like a snow globe?"

As they laughed at the ridiculousness of the offer, Lee noted, "Speaking of clothes and souvenirs, Ran, you can't stay in the jumpsuit forever."

"Safety orange not my color?"

"No. And the chief's gonna want it back, or put you to work hauling gear."

"The Picon trip was just an overnighter; having nothing on my back, means I have nothing," admitted Baresi, returning briefly to seriousness. "So, unless you've got some adult-sized giftwear left…"

Seeing Tyrol shake his head before turning to get his crew back to work, Adama suggested instead, "Before you make any decisions about campouts for the kids, let's head back to the officer's bunk; and we'll get you set up with some of our spares."

Glad the oddity of the doll was heading away across the ship, Kara returned to the comfort of unsettling others. "Makes you miss the days when you had a jumpsuit of your own, huh, Runaway?" She pushed passed him with an intentional if playful shoulder-to-shoulder impact, whispering to him, "Or did you just wanna jump in someone else's?"

"Says the kettle…" volleyed Baresi, with a look of slight annoyance and a shrug at the puzzled-appearing Adama.

* * *

><p>In the senior pilots' bunk, Ran slipped easily back into the no-modesty norms of the officer's berth, as Lee helped him slip stiffly out of the deckhand jumpsuit and into a spare set of pilot's slacks and a tee shirt.<p>

Kara looked on smugly as Ran winced, and quickly returned his expression to appreciation as Lee kicked the bloodied rags toward the door.

"You must be hungry," observed Lee, rifling through his locker and tossing a snack bar Ran's way.

Kara snickered at the resulting sight: the grown man now sitting on the edge of the bunk, helplessly clutching a sealed snack in mittened paws.

"Sorry," smiled Lee, stepping over and unwrapping it for his injured friend. "And I think it's got raisins; but it's all I have…"

"It's perfect," assured Baresi, as he tried to savor the large bites his clumsy hands almost made necessary.

"How long's it been since you were in uniform, on a ship, Runaway?" Thrace re-entered the conversation, as she rattled around in her own locker. "And I don't mean box forts on the playground."

"Never mind Fleet décor," sighed Ran, ignoring what was likely to be a critical end to the innocuous question. Instead, his covering and craving needs met, he slowly rolled out prone on the lower bunk. "I can't remember the last time I slept on any mattress. Actually, on anything except a floor or economy seating."

"If that weren't my bunk, I'd offer to leave you alone for a few minutes with it…," chuckled Lee, at the only slightly exaggerated grin on Ran's face, as he relished the forgotten comfort.

Kara rolled her eyes at the innocent intention behind Lee's suggestive banter, especially given the interaction partner. In an act of mercy, she decided not to pick at that irony directly, but rather pull at threads in the larger situation. "How do you think the Old Man's gonna like have a few dozen jamhands running around his ship?"

"He knows they're here only until we can find somewhere else to put them," grinned Lee. Seeing an opportunity to turn her trouble-seeking efforts back on her, he asked, "Are you volunteering to help? That little girl and her doll seemed to _love_ you on the flight deck…"

"Just because some three-feet tall ball of snot and sugar needs recognizes the awesomeness standing before her-" she gestured to herself- "Does not mean that I am interested, or obliged, to indulge my many fans. Besides, their fearless leader is your groupie, not mine," she fired back.

"I'd bet that Ran could find some space for one more, oversized child in the class," joked Lee. "Though I don't know that he'd like the idea of intentionally adding a delinquent to his cohort. Would you Ran?" Lee asked, as they turned to the guest.

Rather than responding, the discussed teacher lay silently in the CAG's bunk, eyes closed and mouth open, breathing the slow, steady rhythm of a deep sleep.

Elbowing Lee, Kara asked in an automatic whisper, though with exaggerated irritation, "Don't his brats need him for the night?"

"I think they can probably survive one sleep while he gets a good rest," decided Lee as he gently pulled the candy bar remnants from Ran's bandaged fingers, pulled off his cracked glasses, and tousled his hair affectionately.

Setting the glasses on the table, and downing the last bite of the energy bar, he mused, "I've never thought about these bunks as comfortable, but this is probably the best sleep he's gotten in a while…"

"I'll say…," Kara sneered, as she continuing undressing toward a well-earned shower. "He's wearing your clothes, nestled in your bed, and you just tucked him in. He couldn't be happier unless you crawled in there with him."

Lee stopped short as he too prepped for bed, though he'd intended in a different rack than she suggested, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Reality Actual to Apollo? He's been hot for you ever since I've known you both."

"Kara, he's one of my best friends, like a brother. We're close as friends, but that's it. Besides, he has… had someone."

"Lee, I like him; he's a great guy. Really. He's been through a lot recently, like we all have, and now he's got you again –you've got each other. I'm happy for you," she sneered with a genuinely mocking tone, before running out the door with towel and toiletries in hand, clearly wanting the last word.

Lee smirked after her, and then realized he was alone and all but naked in front of Ran. Starbuck's words echoing in his head, he unthinkingly covered himself, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of Ran's gaze, even hypothetical.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Baresi was already gone when rise-and-shine sounded in the pilots' bunk. As the other pilots stretched, scratched and then stumbled out into the day, Lee and Kara tried not to seem too interested in the empty CAG's bunk.<p>

Sharing a well-rested "morning" with the caboose of the head-headed line of pilots, a wet, shirtless and open-flyed Terran grinned at the remaining friends as they gathered their bathroom gear. Lee hurriedly pulled on his own top, while Kara took her time standing in her bra and briefs.

"Looks like you had a good shower, or a good time, teach," she observed suggestively.

"Well, it was really more a get-wet-and-towel-off, as I can't do much with these," Ran explained, holding up his still-bandaged hands. "And the lens on my glasses fell out, so I'm completely short one good eye and two good hands. Not too bad, I guess, considering… I guess this is how daggets feel all the time," he added, putting up his hands and sticking his tongue out in imitation.

Lee smiled mechanically, while Kara rolled her eyes in judgment.

Having entered the room on Lee's side of the central table, Ran asked him, "I could get the shirt off eventually with my paws, but don't have the dexterity to pull it back on damp by myself. So I don't go back to the kids half-naked again, could I get some help?" He intended to ask about the pants zipper less publically.

Lee hesitated noticeably before suggesting, "Kara, why don't you take a turn at being hospitable?"

Enjoying the disconnect playing out before her, she demurred, "Oh, I wouldn't want to come between you two… friends." And then stuck her head deep into her bunk looking for nothing.

Sensing something up, but not realizing what or how serious, Ran held his hands out to Lee plaintively.

With clear resignation, Lee took the shirt and pulled it none too gently over Ran's outstretched arms and then head. Quickly gathering his own bath gear, he narrated for Baresi without making eye contact, "Your class is having breakfast in the enlisted mess this morning, if you'd like to catch them. The President has asked that you attend a briefing at 0800; I'm sure my father would also like to see you there. CIC can give you details. I've got some things I need to take care of before then; so I'll see you both later." And was gone.

Emerging from her bunk, Kara tried poorly to look like she had not noticed the abrupt departure.

Baresi looked after Lee, surprised by and a little offended at the gruff treatment. He was less surprised by Thrace's intentional inattention, and decided against asking for her help with his slacks. "What was that about? Did I do something?"

"Well it's not like he could be in his bunk with you playing sleepover party in it," she suggested and reminded him simultaneously.

"I didn't mean to conk out. And either of you could have woken me," Ran defended.

"But you just looked so precious having your little naptime…" she baby-talked at him.

Professionally trained to handle childish behavior, Ran redirected to the core issue with a calm voice and pleasant expression. "As I seem to have missed something important, would you please tell me what's going on?"

"Oh come on, Ran; is it that hard to figure out? Or just to admit?"

He sighed and shrugged, "I'm a science teacher, not a religious oracle."

"Funny, I thought you'd been an Apollo worshipper for years," she stage whispered.

A wave of insight passed over his face; and he pursed his lips as he decided whether and how to engage her veiled accusations and not-so-hidden defensiveness. "Well, I guess that makes two of us," he fired back, finally showing some fire in his voice.

"What?" she tried to downplay the affront she nonetheless felt.

He walked over and nodded toward the photo of Kara, Zak Adama and Lee pinned inside her locker. "Even with one good eye, I recognize the photo, Kara; I took it. Do you love him?" he asked, pointing to the folded under edge, where he knew the older brother to be. "Do you?"

Kara gaped, then bit her lip in a mix of shock, denial and indecision, finally dismissing harshly, "No."

"Then in addition to mean-spirited, that also makes you an idiot."

Thrace tensed in automatic reaction to the insult, while Baresi stood his ground, eyebrows up in open invitation to strike. "I've got glasses and bound hands, Kara; go ahead and prove nothing." When she hesitated, he confided, "Yes, I love Lee; after Pol, he was my best friend, my brother. If the gods are merciful, the man who loved me died quickly; and I won't get to tell him again how much I do love him. Don't miss your chance."

Tossing his borrowed towel into the laundry bin, he pushed past her, letting his challenge hang as she finally relaxed from her fight stance, slammed her locker and headed to the head.

* * *

><p>Outside the space carrier, amidst the ragtag fleet, the mood was considerably less tense, even if the temperature was much colder.<p>

"So, Winger, did you specifically request the playmate to make CAP less scary for you?" mocked the lead viper pilot.

"Can it, T-Bone," replied her wingman.(2) "You're just jealous the deck crew doesn't outfit your bird with all the comforts of home."

"I don't know what you mean. When I arrived at work, my flight suit had been turned down for me, there was a nice chocolate on my seat; and it's clear my instrument panel has been thoroughly dusted since the last guest. There's even a whiff of 'new viper' scent in the cockpit…"

Winger stuck her tongue out and danced the blue check-glad doll at her colleague through the canopy, when their wireless crackled with Lt Gaeta's voice, "_Galactica_ to CAP. Flight deck suggests your 'stowaway' must have been left by the kids from the passenger cruiser that toured the hangar last night. Request you treat your guest well; we'll return to owner when your patrol's done."

"Acknowledged, _Galactica_," grinned Winger. "We'll give her the royal tour, and bring her home safely."

"Just don't let her steer," added T-Bone. "You're dangerous enough on your own."

"I love you," a sweet, scratchy, automated voice mocked again over his headset.

"I guess this will make for a great story in the ready room; and it's already kept us entertained for more than half an hour this morning…"

Another "Will you be my friend?" was followed by muffled laughter.

_Or this could be a really long rest of shift_, he realized.

Just then a flash of light ahead of them caught both pilots' eyes. A second burst of light burned brighter and closer before consuming Winger's viper in an explosion that bounced debris off her close-following squadron mate.

"Holy frak!" shouted T-Bone as the glare faded and he nearly collided with an oncoming Cylon raider. Recovering his wits and instinctive roll-away enough to flip his control stick around, as CIC chatter went wild in his ears, he managed to see the same Raider fire off a handful of scattering missiles before it blinked back out of existence.

Violent flares from the side of four different civilian ships confirmed it would indeed be a really long shift.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE<strong>

1. Per Battlestarwiki, the viper with this designation survived the Battle of Ragnar Anchorage (Miniseries Part 2), but was not definitively seen or mentioned afterwards.

2. Both these pilot callsigns were referenced in _33_ (BSG 1.1), but never again.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Battlestar Galactica: _Runaway**

by Mirwalker

**Chapter Four**

* * *

><p>Several hours, and multiple jumps later, Commander Adama stalked into the wardroom. The President and her aide were already there, the former never having returned to <em>Colonial One<em> after the adventures of the previous afternoon.

She looked up as he entered, sharing what he'd learned to be her pleasant, but not too-friendly, professional smile. She wasn't happy with this latest string of crises; and she knew he wasn't either.

"Madame President, I'm glad you remained aboard," he acknowledged and assured.

"Thank you, Commander. I'm sorry to have added to the security concerns you and your crew are having to handle."

Though a civilian, and former primary school teacher at that, Roslin sometimes displayed insights on military priorities that many others didn't. For that reason, the fleet's ranking officer didn't need to remind her that having her under his roof actually made protecting her easier.

Lt Gaeta ushered in a fidgety Dr Gaius Baltar, who was followed with a clearly intentional distance by the scowling Colonel Tigh. Only the former nodded to the two leaders as he took his seat around the table.

"Captain Apollo has just landed from jump guard, and will join us in a moment," the Commander began without waiting for additional niceties, taking in the latest reports the Lieutenant handed him. "All ships made all four jumps. But in case these last few, precautionary jumps haven't thrown off the Cylons, we are watching the thirty-three minute countdown; and the OOD will resume jumps immediately, if needed."

Though referencing the grueling pursuit that only ended with the destruction of the _Olympic Carrier_, presumably with all hands—and a few nuclear warheads—aboard,(1) he did not bother translating the acronym for 'Office of the Deck' for the civilians. None asked. He also didn't state the obvious fact that this meeting would end immediately if the Cylons were somehow still following.

Roslin nodded, with a look of clear appreciation for the actions and the update. There was no doubt that she trusted the military to be prompt and thorough. "I'm glad even the damaged ships could make the jump, though I understand one captain is concerned about how many more she'll make without some significant repairs."

Adama nodded that he knew of this pending problem, while _Galactica_'s second-in-command jumped in with a concrete loss, "Well, we are definitely short another fighter and another pilot today. Won't take long for them to whittle us down, plane by plane…"

"I am sorry for your crew's loss, Colonel," the President assured, having learned already that Adama's bulldog often responded best to gentle redirection. "And I share your concern. Do we have any idea how they've begun finding us again?"

"More precisely than ever," Baltar corrected aloud. He looked up suddenly, as if surprised by his own interjection, before continuing his worried thinking aloud. "Prior to the... unfortunate loss of the _Olympic Carrier_, and of my dear colleague Dr Amarak, the Cylons were arriving by BaseStar and at a distance. According to these reports, they've honed their attacks to small ships and an arm's length."

"So not only did their tracking not end with the _Carrier_, like we'd thought," Keikaya finished his deduction, "their information and/or calculations have actually _improved_."

"Something's changed," Roslin summarized.

"And with the _Maiden of the Stars_ also many hours and jumps away, it seems their source was not on any of the successfully executed targets." The Commander looked at each face in turn as he confirmed the concern with which he'd arrived. "Our mole is still very much among us…"

On top of everything else they had faced, just in the last week or so, the re-opening of this terror seemed to suck the air from the compartment. Eyes around the table first fell in weary realization, and then began glancing around the room in suspicion. For another moment, no one breathed.

Until a palm slapped the table next to the Commander. "Gods damn it; it could be anyone! Have we checked with the survivors to see to if any of them match a humanoid Cylon? We might very well have brought them aboard _Galactica_!" The Colonel pushed back from the table in full-bodied indignation.

"None of the survivors has access to the CAP positions, real-time or otherwise," Adama reminded coolly, adding an even more ominous implication to the search: it was someone with live military knowledge. And by extension, someone who knew exactly where the President had been yesterday as well. The list of possibilities was shrinking to an uncomfortably close few.

With a breath in to push away the kneejerk finger-pointing, the Commander turned to a more definitive identification process. "But, since they could be anyone, that group is as good a place as any to start looking. And testing. Dr Baltar, how's your detector coming?"

Knowing his CO would look to him as well, since he'd been assigned to help—and monitor—the work, Lt Gaeta had already raised his eyebrows toward their resident genius. He was curious himself about the project he'd not been allowed to so much as approach or ask about, much less assist with.

As the good doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, as if to answer, the corridor hatch opened with Captain Lee Adama attempting to slip quietly into the room. Still in his flightsuit, his flushed face and heavy breathing suggested he'd not so casually sauntered through the ship to join them as he did to take his seat. He nodded apologies, and looked around to see what topic specifically he'd interrupted.

Deducing Apollo's attire meant he was prepared to return to his viper quickly, Baltar realized that all other eyes had returned expectantly to him. "I'm afraid the... detector is not yet, quite, entirely ready…" He let his nervous smile shift entirely to fear, "Captain, is it really wise to have you off patrol, when we really have no idea whether we're still being pursued by our newly more effective hunters?"

"We'll be pursued as long as there _are_ Cylons, Doctor," the younger Adama reminded. "But we have six planes in the air, and others ready to launch if _they_ are needed."

Noting that the pilot had worked his report into the conversation seamlessly, and expecting nothing so useful to come from the mad scientist, the President turned back to deducing their traitor. "What if Tom Zarek is a Cylon, or even in league with them? After their assassination attempt failed, they could now just trying to sow fear with this new attack ability?"

"Even with access to fleet telemetry and wireless traffic on the _Astral Queen_," Gaeta shook his head, "Zarek wouldn't have the level of detail these attacks have shown. And he has no known way to communicate it to the Cylons without our also detecting it."(2)

Grimaces and sighs around the table signaled yet another dead end. And speaking of, the older Adama shifted the briefing's attention to their most recent death. "So, since we're no closer to knowing how or who is aiding the Cylons with these new strikes, we are down a squadron leader and a viper. And Winger was one of our more experienced pilots." He nodded to Gaeta, who went to the door and whispered something to someone in the hallway.

"I'd bet she'd have had a better chance against that Raider if she hadn't been playing with the godsdamned doll one of those brats left in her plane," spat Tigh, rolling his eyes at every part of the displeasing scenario. "Never mind that the deck crew should've found it in pre-flight inspection, those kids should never have been anywhere near that fighter to begin with."

As if conjured by Tigh's words, Terran Baresi was ushered in, trying to flatten the borrowed shirt as he scanned faces around the table to see whom he had been invited to join.

"Gaeta!" grumbled the XO, as the younger officer retook his seat, "anybody else invited to this party who hasn't graced us with their presence yet?"

The young bridge officer shook his head, unhappy to be implicated in others' apparent lack of punctuality.

Seeing the three senior most military officers in the fleet, along with the President, Baresi stopped and stood almost to attention, before realizing he didn't need to do so. Remembering his civilian status and his invitation to the gathering, he next started to step over to the older Adama with his hand outstretched, before thinking better of that as well. Finally, he slid quickly into the nearest open seat instead. Nodding to Roslin, he covered his stumbling arrival with a sincere "Commander Adama, it's good to see you again, sir."

"It's good to see you too, Terran. I'm sorry to hear about your student and the parent."

"And I, your pilot this morning, sir. But we could exchange condolences for days. Loss is one of the few things we're not short on of late."

Adama nodded agreeably.

"Let's not forget 'hope,' Mr. Baresi," injected Roslin. "Your students are a clear symbol and motivator for our persevering."

"True enough, Madame President. So, let me thank you, Commander, Colonel, Captain, for everything that you and your crew have done for us… all of us." He smiled slightly as a new thought crossed his mind. "Though, I must admit that you've put me in a bit of bind as a teacher, in keeping the children's curiosity about Earth filled. I'm not all that familiar with the legends around the Thirteenth Colony."

Adama smiled uncomfortably; Roslin, amusedly.

"Getting there is going to be a long, rough road, Terran. We'll need all the good people we can get. As I recall, you're a pretty good pilot…"

Tigh's face lit up at the possibility of so ready a replacement.

Baresi's face lost all the lightness of the reunion. "I'm actually a better teacher, sir. My students need me; and we're going to need an educated next generation for the tomorrows you're securing for us today."

"There won't be any tomorrows for them, or any of us, without good pilots to defend us today," the Commander stated matter-of-factly. "We need you on the flightline, son."

"Sir," Baresi interrupted, horrified by the unilateral change in his fate. He pointed to his shattered glasses, "I can barely see; if a yeoman hadn't found me squinting at a doorplate down the corridor, I'd still be looking for this meeting." He looked to the President and then to the CAG for some kind of support.

The Commander turned to his son. "What do you think, Captain? You've flown and schooled with… 'Runaway,' wasn't it? Where would he help best?"

The lead pilot looked very uncomfortable at being pulled into this struggle. His father would be expecting his son's support. His superiors' and his own professional need for good pilots demanded he pursue this able recruit. The President expected him to serve the larger and longer-term needs of the struggling society. And his friend would be expecting solidarity—especially with Kara's revelation that the friend might be hoping for even more… What did Ran want?

And regardless of everyone else's wishes, Lee was happy to have his friend back in his life. But did he really want him in his air group? In his bunkroom? In harm's way?

All the eyes in the room were waiting to see what wisdom Apollo would share. What side he would take.

All eyes except Gaius Baltar's, which had glazed over at these other people's issues, and instead stared into the empty space beside him…

Lee cleared his throat and offered another option. "Ran's science specialty was biochemistry; maybe he could help Dr Baltar with the Cylon detector? If it's not ready."

Slowly turning back to the conversation from whatever he'd been thinking about, it was Baltar's turn to be horrified at the ideas suggested for him. His apparent disgust seemed to grow, until he realized they were all watching him, and with confused looks. Haltingly, a smarmy smile overtook the sour face, until he gave a shallow chuckle and demurred, "I appreciate the suggestion, Captain. And, of course, in general, I welcome any assistance in bringing the project to completion." He ignored Gaeta's eye roll down the table. "But I'm at a point now where, in all honesty, it would be more time-consuming to catch up anyone else than their help would actually bring. Perhaps, in the near future, I could call on his help... At a more conducive point in the process... Someday..."

_ Gaius, _whispered a soothing voice in his ear, which it continued to nibble. _You can put them off, but he's still here now. You need to get rid of him. Get him out of here._

The rest of the room could only see the odd man continuing to fidget and glance about.

He concluded his awkward logic, with yet another suggestion for using the teacher's expertise. "I wonder, Madame President, Commander, if, in the meanwhile, it wouldn't be prudent for us to take advantage of Mr Baresi's presence and experience in some other service for the fleet? For humanity!?"

The gathered leaders looked at him expectantly, most accustomed now to his eccentric presentation of good ideas. Baltar glanced about, looked slightly pained, hoping that such a good suggestion would either be provided by one of them, or would pop into his own mind. The sultry voice in his ear chose not to assist at this particular juncture.

Eyes and ears upon him, Baltar resorted to thinking aloud. "For example, Mr. Baresi, we have been working to establish procedures for identifying survivors, reconnecting families and providing for the basic physical needs of the Fleet. Perhaps we might soon be able to reconnect some of the students with their parents or other relatives. But in the meantime, and even after, the poor, poor orphans—and of course all the children, will need more than food, water and places to sleep. Am I not right?"

Blank and increasingly confused faces made it clear that he was sailing this stream of consciousness alone.

"I mean, we all had more than physical sustenance as we grew up; did we not? We had family, and friends, and play, and… and school? Yes, school! Our children have the unique need of education, beyond the material sustenance we are providing for the rest of the fleet, the adults…"

Faces around the room relaxed a little, as he finally had reached a point; and it was a good one.

He turned toward the former Secretary of Education for the Colonies, and seized the opportunity he'd stumbled back onto. "What we have not done with any centrality or consistency, Madame President, is seen to the care and education of our orphans in particular, and our children as a whole. Could we- could _humanity_ not use some experienced person leading that coordination? A Councilor for Orphans, for Education, or something? I mean, really, we must think of the children!"

_Gaius, I had no idea you were so passionate about children_, exclaimed the voice in his ear. _Such deep paternal instincts; how unexpected and impressive!_

Roslin looked inquiringly at Baresi, as Apollo stifled a smirk at his friend's being elevated to such uncomfortable heights, and by so peculiar a person.

Baresi looked caught between allowing his dedication to his students to be hijacked into a Fleet-wide fatherhood, or refusing and thereby leaving himself open to an imposed return to a pilot's uniform. "Dr Baltar, if you're suggesting that I take responsibility for all the childcare in the Fleet, I must believe there are others with better qualifications than I. Teaching and child-rearing are not the same thing; and I'm just a school teacher."

Colonel Tigh coughed, surely not in commentary on that experience as qualification for significant positions of leadership.

"We're all being asked to step up to new and greater challenges, Terran," the President reminded everyone in the room. "And I think you can certainly offer much needed insight into the general needs of orphans and other children… Billy," she looked to her aide, and intentionally not to the military leaders, "Would you please note that, keenly aware of our pressing need, and with complete confidence, I hereby appoint Terran Baresi as our new Commissioner for Children and Youth Affairs, effective immediately."

Lee smiled openly at her swift and ironic political maneuver, and at his friend for being caught up in it. Tigh grimaced at the become-positive education spin that had come into the situation. The lack of reaction on the elder Adama's face suggested his deep displeasure.

"Sirs," interjected Gaeta, obviously a little nervous to interrupt the tug-of-war afoot in the room, "it's been thirty-five minutes…"

The room's tension was broken by the much larger relief of having cleared the Cylon pursuit window without apparent incident. Roslin's smile brightened, as she patted her aide's arm in celebration; and Tigh exhaled audibly.

Commander Adama, seeing most open questions addressed, at least for the moment, closed his files, and handed the stack to Gaeta. "We'll remain on Condition One through at least the next pursuit countdown. Dr Baltar, we'll be needing that detector as soon as possible. And, Madame President, whatever assistance my staff can provide in placing survivors from the _Maiden_…" _Quickly_, he didn't say. With orders so given to everyone in the room, even under the guise of offers of assistance, he closed the briefing by standing and heading toward the door. "Captain, a word?" he threw over his shoulder, as he followed a relieved-to-be-free Executive Officer into the corridor.

Still torn over his comfort with his friend, the CAG almost appreciated being ordered away without having to speak with him. As the teacher was being congratulated by the President and her scientific advisor, Lee caught Ran's hopeful look his way, before shrugging and jogging out after his superior officer.

Farther up the hallway, his father began speaking without other introduction, "I don't deny that the children need to be cared for; and I'm not going to challenge the President's appointment authority regardless. But more urgently, I need pilots. Good ones, and now."

"And Terran is my childhood best friend…," Lee added, realizing immediately where this walk and talk were going.

"You're also the CAG, and he can fly. Get recruiting."

And with that, Lee was right back in the middle of it all again.

* * *

><p>Helo knew it was likely that the human survivors on Caprica hadn't been the only ones to notice the landing of the stricken Raptor, or at least its takeoff a short time later. In fact, Boomer had only been gone a few minutes, and those left behind still bickering over whether the selection process had been fair, when someone first noticed the shifting gleam of chrome in the distance. Only then had the crowd listened to his instructions to leave the open field, and to seek shelter in the nearby trees.<p>

What little order there had been in that retreat, had fallen apart completely when the shooting began. These sleek new Centurions were faster than stories told of their predecessors in the First Cylon War; they could be quieter too. They had closed the distance inhumanly fast, and slashed through one man's precious pile of books in order to announce their arrival at the rear edge of the escaping humans.

With only the supplies he'd carried on him and a freshly wounded leg, the Colonial officer couldn't fight every toaster or defend each human, so he'd ordered them to scatter and keep going. He didn't think it necessary to suggest they do so silently; but soon there were shouts fanning out in every direction—some from foolish cries as people ran, others—briefer—as others' runs were ended. He quickly realized that his own silence and slowness actually aided him, as the hunt passed him by, and the forest fell silent around him.

Still in pain, and very aware that he'd only caught quick glimpses of the returned enemy, Helo soon understood that he was also alone as the sun began to set on the embattled planet.

He spent the first night unable to sleep—adrenaline, fear and pain being companions who would not be ignored. He'd expected to see some light in the sky, from continued explosions or at least the glow of burning cities from earlier blasts. But he was obviously far enough from them, that the night had been very dark and far too quiet.

The slow morning brought no new evidence of the distant destruction, or of closer pursuit; but he knew it was there. The radiation badge in his medikit had begun to change colors; so he knew the attack was at least partly nuclear. He'd started the anti-rad injections, and marked heading toward the nearest city-target off his to-do list. But, he needed to put some distance between himself and that known search area, to get a better idea of the situation, and to get more supplies.

So, he headed out toward a large hill he'd seen in the near distance, ducking one flyover by an evil-looking pair of flying crescents—new Cylon raiders, he'd deduced. Avoiding the easy, but obvious, roads, he nonetheless followed one until it reached a small intersection, where several businesses had apparently served as last shopping stops for those heading for weekend trips into the wilderness.

Finding the small store unlocked—abandoned perhaps, he carefully entered. Thrilled at the possibility of the easy restock, he knew not to be less cautious about exploring or securing it.

He had just swept the space, including the tiny storeroom/office, and was helping himself to a chocolate bar, when he heard the front door squeak open. Ducking below the shelves, he drew his sidearm, and listened for movement or the identifying hum of a toaster. Hearing nothing, he carefully peeked through a snack display, and saw nothing in the entry.

His leg throbbing from the squatting strain on his injury, he was just shifting to look down the opposite end of the aisle, when a calm voice behind him caused him to jump despite its message, "Hello. Are you alive?"

* * *

><p><strong>NOTES<strong>

1. _33_ (1.01).

2. Zarek had assumed control of the _Astral Queen_ as a condition of ending his uprising and participating in the water mining in episode 1.3 (_Bastille Day_).


	5. Chapter 5

**Battlestar Galactica: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER FIVE<strong>

"I startled you," the man standing before Helo laughed, almost giggling at the squatting man's near-jump and spot-on aim of the flare pistol.

"Who are you?" the wounded, stranded ECO demanded, not intending to lower the weapon until he was sure of this stranger's intentions. _And how the frak did you move so quickly and quietly?_

"My name is Danny," the man said, offering his hand for a handshake, as if they were meeting at some social occasion, not while taking refuge from an apocalyptic invasion by killer robots. His cheerful tone was equally out of place in that new world order. The pale man looked slightly younger than Helo; and was clean-cut, wore neat, casual clothes including a light jacket, and had a faded messenger bag strung over his shoulder. He really looked like he'd just dropped into the store for a quick snack while out for a leisurely walk some random afternoon.

Sensing the new arrival as incredibly awkward, but not immediately dangerous, Helo ignored the hand, and instead settled to the ground with an audible wince as his leg judged his continued exertion harshly.

"It looks like you're hurt," Danny realized, and quickly began rummaging through his bag. "I have things that might help." He pulled out a rough handful of bandages, medicinal spray and gauze, and held them out, apparently offering them.

Not really understanding the still-smiling man's nonchalance under the circumstances, but grateful for the extra supplies, Helo carefully pulled a few items free from his fist, with an appreciative nod.

"Are you alone?" Danny asked, more sad for, than suspicious of, the injured man on the floor.

"Yeah, just me," Helo nodded, as he bit on his lip and pulled a painkiller from his own small medikit.

"I'll be your friend, if you like," Danny offered, his smiling returning. Without waiting for agreement, he took a pack of chewy fruit candies from the rack above Helo, walked to the register and counted out some small change from his pocket. Opening his purchase, he joined Helo on the floor, shrugging when the pill-popping pilot shook his head at the offer to share.

Helo continued to stare at him, almost amused at how non-plussed Danny seemed, and seriously wondering what drugs he must be on to seem so out-of-step with the state of things. He didn't know whether to pity or envy the guy's apparent ability to escape reality.

"What's your name?" Danny asked, continuing the casual meet-and-greet.

Helo chuckled at the absurdity of two grown men sitting on the floor of an abandoned convenience store, snacking on candy and getting to know one another as the worlds ended. But, at the same time, it was very human—to connect with someone else; and it couldn't really hurt. So…, "Karl. My name is Karl," he answered. No need to offer more military connection than his flight suit already screamed, just in case…

"It is very nice to meet you, Karl." Danny again offered a handshake and smile, which Karl accepted, along with the tragically comic circumstances.

Helo finished his own quick-energy candy bar, and turned to tending to his leg. He was due for another anti-radiation shot soon, but didn't really have enough to begin sharing with everyone he met, no matter how friendly, and didn't want to start trouble by openly treating only himself. Instead, he asked, "Do you live out here?"

"Yeah," Danny nodded, taking another single piece from the bag, examining it and then slowly chewing it. "I've lived with my sister as long as I can remember. Sometimes, we would come down to this store; and I would get some candy. Do you like candy, Karl?" he offered again.

When Karl again declined, Danny pointed to three other types of snacks on the opposite shelf. "I like those too because the package is pretty, and they taste good. But I don't have enough credits to buy them today. I'm not supposed to have a lot anyway; it will spoil my lunch." He whispered the last sentence, as if sharing a secret. "I wonder what we're having?"

"Lunch…?" Helo couldn't restrain his shocked curiosity any longer. "You do know what's happening out there, don't you?"

The stranger wilted a little at his tone, or at the reminder of the outside events. But he nodded nonetheless, admitting, "My sister told me not to be afraid; but I could tell that she was a little scared too. Then, they started hurting people… That's not good, and I _was_ afraid. So when they came to the house…"

"You ran away?" Helo guessed the conclusion in simple terms, beginning to accept that this man was younger than he looked, developmentally at least. _Just my luck..._

Glum, Danny nodded and popped another candy in his mouth.

"Your house, is it nearby?" Helo was hoping for a place to settle in, briefly, that wasn't so exposed on the road. Some place with some comforts of home might also help—food, medicines, perhaps even some civilian clothes he could change into, to be less obviously a military threat or hero to others he might come across.

"Yes," nodded Danny. "But they'll know to look there. They'll find me."

The last thing Helo needed with an injured leg, limited radiation medications and the larger Cylon onslaught, was a child-like sidekick with a sweet tooth. But the guy might know the local area, and could be a useful guide, if he could engage him correctly. Maybe there was a refugee camp or resistance center he could get them to, or at least drop Danny at… It's not like he could just leave him now, if he didn't run like the others had. _Me and my gods-damned conscience._

Outside, a loud roar passed overhead; and, rather than fading away with distance, it shifted to an even louder sound as something settled to the ground not too far away.

Pistol up immediately, Helo put his other finger over his lips—shushing the more curious- than panicked-appearing Danny. Peering around toward the glass front doors, he could just see the edge of a large, silver something sitting the middle of the crossroads. He didn't recognize it; but knew it wasn't Colonial. It was really the weapons-out Centurions that came around its corner—sleeker than the old war model, but even less friendly looking—that confirmed danger had arrived. _Frak!_

Helo turned back to Danny, who was counting out a last few coins in his hand. "Ok, we need to get out of here quickly, and very, very quietly."

"I don't have enough money for another candy to take with us for later," Danny looked up sadly. He obviously understood that they would be leaving, but not the exclusive urgency of that need.

Getting up on his feet, but staying low, Helo grabbed a handful of one favorite flavor, and stuffed them into his open flight suit. "We'll take some with us… We need to go _now_."

"We have to pay-," Danny corrected, beginning to stand up fully.

Helo grabbed him by the collar, pulled him down into a stoop, face-to-face. "We'll come back and pay later. Right now, I need you to follow me, and not make a sound. Alright?"

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere else… We're going to sneak out the back door, and slip back into the woods until we can decide on some place safe."

"But-"

"Danny," he tensed, before willing a more inviting, coach-like tone into his face and voice. "I need to you trust me, and do exactly what I say. If you do, I can keep you safe. Do you understand? Can you do that?"

Danny nodded; and Helo turned back to confirm the Centurions were still spreading out from the landing craft, including in the direction of the store.

As Karl pushed them both back toward the storeroom and, hopefully, the rear entrance, Danny must have caught a glimpse out the front windows, because he stopped and nearly stood up. "Ooh, it's the shiny ones; they're pretty."

Helo yanked him back down, with the whispered reminder, "They're Cylons—the bad robots."

Danny looked at him, puzzled, "They aren't the ones we have to worry about…"

* * *

><p>"I'm realizing that he's not just a good teacher, Apollo; he's <em>good<em>…," the President confessed, reading off the notes before her to explain her unsolicited compliment. "He wouldn't give up his students, but understands our larger need. So, on the spot, he came up with a list of conditions for taking the position: some help with his current cares; a ship-by-ship roster of passengers with teaching experience and of those under 18 years old, broken down by parent/guardian status, age and native language; and, pointing out that you'd just done vessel visits across the fleet, he wants your help in identifying a suitable space for a youth administration center."

She looked up at her advisor on the military, who didn't seem surprised at his friend's quick thoroughness. "Then, he assured me there'd be more needs and questions as he had more time to think about it, and promptly excused himself to go back to his class…" Her expression suggested both that she was a little shocked at her newest minister's pluck, and that she also admired him for it.

Lee nodded, "As military brats, we learned early to do as we were told. Along the way, _he_ got much better than me at also doing what we wanted within those confines…"

"Your fathers served together, I'm guessing?"

"Along with Colonel Tigh. Posting to posting, the wives and families were often neighbors, or at least close. Ran and I were the same age, and so signed up for Fleet together, went to the Academy… everything together."

"But he got out?"

Nodding to her list, he explained that, "He's also a good pilot, technically. But I could tell his heart wasn't really in it, never was. About three years ago, after he got his grad degree through FleetEd, he resigned to go into teaching."

"And you stayed in?"

Lee nodded matter-of-factly, obviously sitting before her as lead pilot for the known sum total of Colonial forces.

Roslin could tell that he could probably say more about his own passions for the uniform, or lack thereof; but she hadn't yet earned that confidence from him, especially when she was relying on him advice on military matters. As was the whole Fleet. As was one other very important Adama.

"And your father still wants to you to get him back into that uniform, doesn't he?" she named, slipping her glasses off onto the cluttered desktop, and sitting back into her chair. "And here I am talking up keeping him out of it. I guess that puts you in a bit of a hard place?"

Lee smiled, embarrassed at the President's apparent ability to read his discomfort so clearly.

"He'd arguably be in his rights to do so: start a draft," she continued sharing insights and strategies. "We're going to run into societal needs that must be met. We've also got a population that will be in dire need of something to do. And those won't always align to everyone's preference."

Lee hadn't considered that large scale or long term struggle _among_ the humans.

"I can't and won't fight the Commander on all his military priorities," Roslin assured. "But I need—we _all_ need, Terran looking out for those soldiers and civilians coming along behind us. You, and your father, and I- we'll make that way for them; but they have to be ready to take on the struggles and successes, probably sooner than later. And I think your father knows that, deep down. That's why he led the civilian fleet out of Ragnar. That's why he shared the… secret about Earth. But it won't always be his first priority."

She leaned toward Lee, and squinted, reminding him that, "Developing our people, beyond protecting them, must always be one of mine. And not just because I was a schoolteacher once."

"And I get to navigate between both too."

"Humanity _needs_ Terran to be more than a schoolteacher; and I need you to be more than the CAG, Lee." She smiled knowingly, "I can't make it easier for you. But I do hope you can maintain your friendship with him as we all figure it out. You'll both also need that connection now, more than ever."

* * *

><p>His new friend looked up from pad and pencils, and smiled as Helo finished his hobbling circuit of their makeshift camp.<p>

As much he wanted to take advantage of the few homes and buildings they'd seen, Helo's training told him that the Cylons would be searching the human settlements first.

And there were at least a few dozen foot soldiers in the area. That there were any troops on the ground, and that the nuclear blasts in the distance had stopped some time ago, suggested that their overall goal was domination, not complete destruction, of the planet. More likely, they were just taking out military targets and irradiating Caprica, and the other Colonies, to kill off the humans, and leave the land and resources largely intact for the unaffected robots.

Still, for complete control, the Cylons would have to track down, kill and clean up the straggling humans, especially this far from the blast centers. And those handfuls of toasters he'd seen so far showed that they seemed to know that there _were_ some stragglers in this area, perhaps because of his and Sharon's raptor landing, and the crowd it attracted.

Whatever the global or local details, he couldn't risk getting caught on a couch or in the shower of some abandoned home. No matter how much his burning leg, and growing nausea and sweats wanted otherwise. So, for now, he would continue taking the anti-radiation injections, and keep his... simple friend from getting either of them killed, as long as he could—while he healed, and until he could connect with other survivors.

Until then, at least he had a friend, who was busily scribbling in the notebook pulled from his inseparable bag.

"What are you drawing?" asked Helo, as he settled down uncomfortably beside Danny.

"Things from my dreams, mostly."

The small page was covered in colorful, cloud-like swirls and great crystalline structures. The former could be Danny's attempt to make sense of, and art from, the blast clouds. The latter… who knew?

He was leaning over and squinting as he worked, trying to eek out every moment of cloudy daylight he could.

"It's going to be dark soon," Helo explained. He didn't hypothesize it might also just be fallout blocking the sun for who knew how long. "I don't think it's safe to try a fire tonight, not yet." Too many hunters around.

Danny looked up at the forecast news, with a worried look on his face. "I really don't like the dark…"

_How am I not surprised, but…_ Helo nodded with more confidence than he actually felt. "We'll be fine; but can't take the risk of being spotted, not with all the toasters poking around. So, we should take our medicine and eat before we lose the sun completely." He'd pulled out the medikit, and opened the precious box of syringes.

Danny shook his head and turned away, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of the medicine, needles or something.

"Look," Helo whispered, as much not to frighten his skittish companion, as not to vent his own frustration with everything. "I don't have much; but I'm willing to share with you until we can find more. The bombs the Cylons used are going to make you sick; I can already feel it, maybe because I was a little closer, or because of my leg. I know it's not fun, but you need to do this to stay well, to stay alive."

"But they didn't get me; I got away," Danny reminded, struggling between his base fear and his budding trust.

"You can't see radioactivity getting on you; but it's still there, in the air."

Danny smiled as he apparently realized, "You're being silly, Karl." He rummaged in his bag, "The radio doesn't make music anymore, like it used to." Misunderstanding, or redirecting the conversation, he pulled a small, decades old handheld from his motley keepsakes, and shook it—proving there was no reception. _No radio activity in the air..._

Helo smiled and shook his head in a mix of frustration and amusement. He couldn't very well force the guy to take the medicine—the struggle would draw too much attention, at the very least. And if Danny didn't use any, then there was more for- No; he couldn't take advantage of Danny's lack of comprehension. He had to figure out some other way.

"I feel fine, Karl," Danny assured with a serious expression, perhaps sensing his friend's struggle or intent. With one finger he wiped a bead of sweat off Helo's forehead, and pointed to the complete lack of it on his own. "See, I'm not sick. Just hungry."

"Ok," Helo relented, admitting that Danny wasn't showing any indication of any symptoms of being unwell, beyond a smudge of blue ink above his lip, from when he'd bit the wrong end of his drawing tools. "But the medicine will help more the sooner you take it; so you have to let me know as soon as you start feeling bad, alright?"

"Ok, Karl," Danny promised.

As Helo gave himself the absolute minimum amount the kit would dispense, he thought he'd get a little more information on his artist pal, while also setting up better self-care for down the road. "You said you ran away from the house you shared with your sister. Won't she be worried about you? I bet she'd want you to take your medicine…"

Danny looked up, and then off into the direction he'd indicated his house was—through the thickest concentration of Centurions, of course. "She always looked out for me. She said there were… problems when I was being born; and so she has always cared for me out here, where others wouldn't find and make fun of me. But I don't think she ever gave me medicine." He seemed to try to remember, before brightening as he all-but-asked, "But she would let me have _candy_..."

"You are persistent," laughed Helo, realizing that he still had a stash of sweets, and that perhaps this was his best means of managing the new partnership. Not really having space in his own gear for it anyway, and wanting to show trust was two-way, he motioned Danny to bring over his bag. "Here's what we're going to do: you can have one piece with every meal, if you will promise me a few things…"

Bright-eyed in the waning daylight, Danny nodded eagerly, ready to agree to anything for the treats.

"First, the three rules we talked about before; do you remember?" He counted them out on his fingers, as Danny did the same. "Always do what Karl says. Always stay quiet. Always stay low. Good!" Helo chuckled, handing Danny a blatant reward for good memory and behavior. "And now we're going to add, 'No eating candy unless Karl says so,' OK?"

"Mmm-kay," Danny agreed as he chewed.

"If you promise you can do all that, I'm going to let you carry the candy; but no eating unless I say so," Helo emphasized again. He opened the messenger bag and made a clear point of placing the candy packets inside.

As he tucked them in deep, Helo noticed an unexpected item among the motley collection of personal treasures. Pulling out the little doll in a light blue dress, with two long ponytails of yellow yarn, he asked, "What's this?"

"No!" Danny nearly shouted as he leapt for the toy, his face wrenched with terror. "Don't let her talk! She'll tell them where we are!"

* * *

><p><em>tbc...<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**Battlestar Galactica: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER SIX<strong>

Colonel Tigh had tasked Gaeta with finding somewhere out of the way to put the school kids—_temporarily_, he'd stressed, clear that they shouldn't and wouldn't be staying on the warship long. _Galactica_ was big, to be sure—by far the largest ship in the fleet; but no part of her had been designed with children in mind. Everything was too big, too dangerous and/or too boring for little legs, hands, curiosities and attention spans. So, the good lieutenant and the new Commissioner had quickly determined that the best place for the small balls of energy was—temporarily—in the starboard flight pod, now museum, and now youth center.

And that's exactly where the Fleet's CAG, and newest military recruiter, found his friend and prospective pilot. Gathered in front of the huge bank of windows at the aft end of the space, using the tables for the intended café, the students worked to assemble some small science construction kits, probably also salvaged from the gift shop. Ran Baresi and the remaining mother moved among them, focusing them on the task, and encouraging team work.

"It's not a race, Shad," the teacher reminded one little builder. Seeing the approaching form in the empty space beyond the tables, he looked up and smiled at Lee, sharing a final instruction before heading over toward his friend. "Once you have your model complete, we'll look at and talk about each one."

"Commissioner," Lee nodded, with a mockingly formal nod and handshake.

"Captain," Ran returned, with an eye roll at the day's early turn of events. "I always thought that being a senior Presidential appointee came with more perks: a staff, a car, an office…"

"You do get childcare."

"You mean, I _am _childcare."

"Details," Lee laughed. "How are _they_ doing?"

"Pretty well," Ran sighed, as he turned to look back over the five anthills of activity. "Keeping them occupied is key—and alarms and drills don't count as helpful…"

"Well as you heard earlier, we seem to be past those, for now. Hopefully."

They stood watching the mixed of excitement and arguments as the children tried to work collaboratively, but without much coordination, on their assignment. Roused by a particularly loud peal of laughter, Baresi nudged his visitor, "So was this a friendly howdy, or did you come to make sure we weren't breaking your dad's ship?"

"Both," Lee laughed. "I wanted to see how you were doing with the new job…"

"'Presidential appointment,' you mean," Baresi corrected with mock haughtiness. "And speaking of, you apparently have some influence with the President; can you help me convince her that _Colonial One_ is best place for us?"

Lee stared at him, wide-eyed. "You want to put a daycare—excuse me, a school… on the President's own ship?"

"I didn't say she'd like it; I said it makes the most sense," Ran corrected, before explaining, "They've barely got a fifth of their capacity onboard, and so still have hangar space that we could use as class and playrooms, if not dorms—all decks below the adult spaces; so they don't have to worry about distractions. I'd be near both the students themselves, and her, for consultations. And except _Galactica_, and unless there's a pulp ship in the fleet, it's likely the largest user of paper, much of which could be reused for children's assignments…"

"And it's one of the most protected places in the fleet, after _Galactica_," Lee pointed out with a knowing smile.

"Keeping them safe _is_ my primary job…," Terran acknowledged with a smile of his own, but without an apology for the ulterior motive.

"It's also much more target because of her presence," Lee reminded. "I think we're going to have put you somewhere else, with special attention from CAP patrol, if need be."

"Well, I'd certainly appreciate the special attention," Ran smiled, until Lee's troubled reaction suggested he change the subject. "I'm guessing Colonel Tigh won't be convinced to let us stay here?" he waved to the cavernous landing bay.

"That'll be the day," Lee smirked, going quickly along with the shift. He didn't share that there'd already been talk of taking the whole pod offline, conserving the energy and oxygen for more useful parts of the ship. By most calculus, the giant windows and beautiful stellar vistas weren't practical during war. But, "I know a way _you_ could stay on here…," Lee added quietly, without looking away from the students before them.

"But you just said— Wait, just me?" Ran turned toward his uniformed visitor, beginning to realize what was being suggested.

"We need pilots, Ran," Lee cut to the quick. "I know my dad surprised you with that invitation, and then the President jumped in quickly with her appointment. But that shows how highly they think of you, how much you're needed…"

"I got out for a reason, Lee; and that hasn't changed."

"Everything's changed."

"My new responsibilities haven't," Ran pointed toward the chattering crowd before them. "Even if I wanted to fly again—which I don't. And no matter how much _Galactica_'s leaders need pilots—and I get that you do. But I already have an obligation to these little guys, that neither the Commander nor the President can trump."

"You're a good pilot, Runaway," his Academy classmate reminded, with more nostalgic than persuasive intent.

"I'm also a technically proficient cook; but that doesn't mean the galley's where I most needed, or can have the most positive impact for the species…" Seeing that Lee's efforts and arguments were as dispassionately mechanical as his own sought-after skills, Baresi stepped into Apollo's sightline. "Where do you think I'd do us all best, Lee? Where _you_ want me?"

Making, and then breaking eye contact quickly, Lee opened and closed his mouth—unsure of what to say, or at least unwilling to say it. A tug at his pants broke him from the hesitation; and he looked down to see a familiar little girl staring up at him intently.

"You're the leader of the people who fly the... the snakes," Jina stated, without waiting for acknowledgement or re-introductions. "I think I left my Kara in the ship we saw yesterday. And the missus said she would ask about getting my dolly back; but I don't think she did because they haven't brought her back to me. So can you please check in the smelly seat, and get her for me?" Her request delivered, she looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to dash away obediently.

Lee looked over to the teacher, to find his eyebrows up, eagerly waiting to see how this leader of men would manage the solo child, half his height. _How unimportant and easy is this responsibility?_ Ran seemed to be asking. Taking a breath, the CAG squatted down to eye level with the impatient-looking child, and explained, "Jina, I'm sorry. The plane that your doll was in was… lost. The pilot found the doll, and was going to bring it back to you; she really was. But…"

The face before him squished up slowly; but the cry from it was no quieter for the build-up. "You lost Kara!"

"Oh, no!" Lee gaped, looking up to Ran with a panicked look. "Jina… Well— You see…"

Taking pity on both, Baresi stepped in, knelt down beside the girl and put his arm around her. "I'm sorry, Jina; but she's gone. The _Galactica_ is a dangerous place for little dolls; and that's another reason we won't be staying here for long." He glanced up at the recruiter with that promise, and added another on his behalf. "But I know that Captain Apollo and his pilots will do everything they can to find you another doll to take with us…"

"No!" the small storm stomped, probably venting frustrations well beyond the toy's loss alone. "I don't want another doll; I want Kara! I had her on the other ship, and she had just starting talking again!"

"Jina, I know she was important to you, especially if she'd just started talking with you when the—"

The officer stopped talking suddenly, his eyes large and focused off into the distance. His frozen form startled both teacher and student, to the point that Baresi reached out and shook him by the arm. "Lee? Lee!"

"That's it," the CAG leapt upright, and spun a quick circle in place, as he thought through his epiphany aloud. "Billy gave her a battery for the doll not long before we were attacked on the _Maiden_; and the CAP was attacked not long after Winger found the doll and started playing with it… Oh, my gods! When it talks, the doll calls the Cylons!"

He dropped down to take the little girl by the shoulders, his face in hers. "Jina, it's very important that you remember where you got that doll. When did you get it? Who gave it to you? Do you know anyone else who has one like it? Please think; the Cylons may be using them to track us; and we have to stop that before anyone else gets hurt." He'd become so animated in his revelation and demand for more information, that Lee had actually looked like a man possessed.

Ran was startled both by the deduction his friend was making, as well as the frantic energy he was showing. It wasn't until the child burst into tears again, newly frightened by the shouting and shaking, that he was snapped from the ominous implications, and resumed his directly protective role. "Lee! LEE!" he shouted, breaking the little girl free, and picking her up and turning her away from the interrogation.

"We've got to find those dolls!" Apollo shouted, as he bolted up the hangar toward the crossover corridors. "I've got to report this; but don't go anywhere," he pointed back at the sobbing girl. "We'll have more questions for her!"

* * *

><p>The nausea and chills had begun to eclipse the burning in his leg; and the general fatigue Helo felt was getting worse. This despite the regular injections he'd begun taking well before the radiation badge in his survival kit had turned completely black. He worried that any infection in his wound was quickly taking back seat to the less obvious injuries…<p>

Next to him, sitting on the creekside under the bridge, Danny was happily munching on the jelly sandwich they'd made from supplies grabbed from a deserted cabin earlier in the day. Helo had seen the four bodies, shot in the back, to one side of the yard; but hadn't pointed them out or mentioned them to his easily upset-able companion. Rather, he'd taken the obvious evidence that the Cylons had already been through the house, as good sign it was safe to quickly get what they could from the homestead.

Having done so, and moved on again promptly in case the toasters came back, Helo hadn't been able to keep down the sweet berry filling, as Danny cheerfully had. After washing himself off in the stream, he had resorted to nibbling on the hard bread, as better than nothing.

More upset at their "borrowing" the food without permission, and despite having taken nothing for the toxic rays saturating the atmosphere, Danny looked the picture of health. In fact, he had only stopped humming a simple tune to comfort the wretching Karl, and to offer some of his own sandwich.

"You're all sweaty, Karl. Maybe you should take some more of your medicine?" Danny dug in his bag, and handed his friend a piece of precious candy, suggesting it might help the medicine work, or offer some relief in its own, sweet right.

Appreciating the gesture, if queasy at the idea of trying it, Helo accepted the gift with a forced smile, and tucked the candy away. "Thank you, Danny." He'd learned that his companion really liked to be called by name—affirming to him somehow, even though there was no one else Helo could be talking to.

"Are you sure you don't feel bad at all?" he asked. "You're not tired, or your stomach upset? Nothing?"

Danny shook his head as he licked the jam off his fingers. "I'm sorry you don't feel good. I just- I just miss my sister... Can we go home now, Karl?"

"Not yet, buddy," Helo began what was becoming his stock response. _Was this what having kids was like?_ "We're too far away to get there today; and there are lots of mean toasters in the way."

Danny nodded, but looked freshly saddened by the answer, however familiar it might be to him. That tone seemed to lead him to another, equally unhappy question. "Why do the Cylons want to hurt us? Did we do something wrong?"

Helo sighed, having wondered the same thing himself on some level, but knowing that he didn't have the knowledge, energy or audience for a full historical and philosophical exploration of such a big, but simple question. "Well, way back before either you or I was born, some humans weren't very nice to the Cylons. I guess they're still very angry about that."

"Maybe if we just say we're sorry," Danny suggested as he dipped his toes in the running water, with a gasp. "Oh, it's cold!"

Helo smiled as he leaned against the trestle, wishing he could so quickly move on past the hardships of the moment. Chatting, even apologetically, with the Cylons was very low on his priorities list. Rather, the road or rail line above them had reminded him that this unlikely pair needed to start heading _to_ somewhere, not just _away from_ the Cylons. With every hour that passed, there would likely be more robots in more places across the area, the continent and the planet. Just getting away was not a viable long term option; they needed to be more than running away. They needed a direction, a goal, a plan.

* * *

><p>"A doll?" the President asked on behalf of everyone, dubious.<p>

The faces around the table looked less than amused at having been hastily pulled from whatever else they were doing, especially when the urgent answer to their Cylon tracking mystery turned out to be… a toy.

"I know it sounds far-fetched," the younger Adama grinned at the absurdity of what he was suggesting. "But that it's so hard to believe makes it a perfect strategy for them… Who'd have ever suspected? Look, the last two ships we lost: the CAP viper and the _Maiden of the Stars_ –both had that same doll on board. Not a similar human pilot or passenger; no common parts or cargo. Just the doll."

"You've got to be frakkin' kidding me," scoffed Tigh.

"We didn't detect any kind of unknown transmission from either ship," the elder Adama reminded.

Seeing that the disinterested scientist across from him wasn't going to speak to the physics of possible stealth communications, the CAG countered, "We also never had any signal intelligence on how the Cylons were tracking us before the _Olympic Carrier_; but that didn't stop them from showing up every thirty-three minutes."

"Mr Gaeta," the Commander interrupted, "How long between Winger's finding the doll and the actual ambush?"

"I'd have to check the duty logs to be sure, sir; but she was less than an hour into her patrol."

"And she didn't find the doll, or start it talking, immediately...," Apollo added.

"Check," the Commander ordered, sending the Lieutenant to call the CIC for more precise measures, as the President's senior aide entered the room and handed the Captain a stack of papers.

Not waiting on the CIC specifics, Lee continued, "Even if the evidence is only circumstantial, it's the best— the only lead we've got right now. So I asked Mr Keikeya to check the media coverage of the President's visit to the liner, to see if he could find a usable image of the doll, from a random crowd shot or happenstance close-up of the kids. And it looks like he found one," he smiled as he passed out the timely copies.

As they circulated, Keikeya added to their meaning. "Captain, in looking at these, I think I may have another puzzle piece… Madame President, do you remember the Botanical Cruiser we visited that first day, as the civilian ships began to gather?"

"I do," she said, her gaze and voice dropping into the photo as she realized where this must be going.

He explained for the others who hadn't been there. "We encountered a little girl on that ship, named Cami; and, while I never heard it speak, she- she had one of these dolls."

All eyes, except one pair, snapped up to him.

"That Raider jumped in pretty close, before…"

"Before it went to get friends; and they came back and finished off all the ships that couldn't make the jump," Lee finished the unhappily never after. "And that makes at least three separate attacks, where the only known common factor was the doll..."

The lead pilot sat back in his chair, allowing his unexpectedly bolstered case to sink in, past weary hearts, to the gathered minds and the likely decisions they'd have to make very soon.

The wired handset on the wall rang, waking everyone from their reflection. Gaeta moved quickly to get the requested update from the CAP duty records.

"You'd've made a good attorney, Captain," Roslin smiled, working to turn the tone. "And you a good PI, Billy."

"What if the little girl is another of these human-form Cylons?" asked the ranking military officer, having to consider that his CAG hadn't actually gone far enough with his ominous deduction. "The doll might be the transmitter; but she's the plant?"

Baltar sat up at the sudden suggestion there might be another flesh and blood Cylon on the loose. And needing his detection.

"Whether she's in on it, or just an unwitting carrier," Lee agreed, "we need to track down any remaining dolls in the Fleet, and to talk to her about how she came to have hers…"

"Um, sirs," Gaeta broke in from where he held the handset at the wall, "Comm traffic and DRADIS data confirm that the gap between Winger's first making the doll talk, and the Raiders' appearance… It was approximately thirty-three minutes."

Tigh and Roslin sat up.

"And," Gaeta continued, "CIC has just received word from Mr Baresi's group in the starboard pod… Apparently Jina McGavin has run away."

* * *

><p><em>tbc...<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**_Battlestar Galactica_****: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER SEVEN<strong>

Another night brought another morning. Helo was no better; Danny was no worse.

Add to the mix that the morning clouds didn't seem interested in lifting today; and Helo knew that surviving the night had only brought some new challenge: A dust cloud, figuratively and/or literally 'hot' from high altitude blasts. Or rain, laden with upper atmospheric nuclear particles. Or enough insulation to block out sunlight and trap in fallout. Or all of the above.

At best, the cloud cover might mask them from any Cylon orbital sensors, or perhaps the occasional flyover patrols. But whatever else it might do, it had already made for a warm, muggy start to the day; and gave no indication that the new experience would be letting up any time soon.

By late morning, Helo had to let up their push in the direction of the region of Parnassa. Overnight, he'd decided to head in that direction, as the nearest large city was Delphi, its district seat and home to a military base. It would be a long march to what would have been a likely target; but somewhere between wilderness and suburb, they might find some military survivors, or at least supplies –until he healed enough to hunt/farm.

Sweating away precious water and energy, the ECO insisted, "I just need to rest a little; lemme rest," as he slid down the nearest tree trunk, and sighed deeply at the enormous effort that seemed to take, even with gravity's help.

"But we aren't far, Karl," Danny urged, feigning steps in the direction of the troop transport wreckage they'd spotted from the top of the bluff, and toward which they'd set out a few hours earlier. Going had been slow, given the roundabout path they had to take, and Helo's steadily decreasing pace. "It's just down there," he pointed eagerly.

"I know, Danny; we did really good to get here. Let me just rest a little bit, and then we'll do the last bit." He didn't bother pointing out that it's physically more demanding to travel downhill, than up, even when you don't have hamstring injury or radiation poisoning. Instead, he opened his medkit and prepared another injection, hoping that it was just taking a while to kick in or was holding off a really high radiation dose, rather than that it was a bad batch, or too little to help.

Danny came over and squatted beside him, looking unhappy with the delay in reaching their goal. Seeing just how drained Karl looked, though, he pulled a rag from his handy bag, and mopped his friend's brow. "Do you want another piece of candy, Karl?"

"No, thank you, Danny. You know, I don't get it," Helo smiled feverishly, patting him affectionately on the cheek as he closed his eyes. "I can't keep down water; and you're looking spry on little more than sugar for days."

"My sister said I was 'born the lucky one,'" he recited from memory. "But, I don't want _you_ to end up like that man on the road," Danny admitted, referencing the bloating corpse they'd come across earlier in the morning, and from which Helo hadn't been fast enough to turn him away. The body'd had no obvious wounds; but did have some bleeding that suggested he'd succumbed to radiation—assuming he hadn't been out here in the wilds, quarantined for some pre-existing hemorrhagic illness.

Danny ran his hand gently over Helo's head, petting him, almost, in a sincere effort to be comforting. "Please don't go to sleep forever, Karl; _you_ won't come back… Please?"

"I'm not gonna die, buddy, not for a lonnnnnng time. But I do need to rest today, just a little bit before we go on. Why don't you draw me something, while I sit here in the quiet for a few minutes?"

Disappointed, concerned, but dutiful, Danny nodded, and pulled out his notebook and pencils. Hungry, but having nothing but a few remaining candies in his bag, he also obeyed Karl's rule not to have any without permission. Turning every few minutes to see that Karl was still breathing, or perhaps was still there at all, he quickly sketched a few of the singing birds he could see.

Art done and stomach growling, he nudged his resting pal, to share the piece and urge them onward; but the man didn't stir. "Karl?" he poked again, with no response. "Karl?" he shouted, before catching himself breaking that rule. "Please wake up; please?"

Nothing.

Growing panicked, he pushed and tugged at the pale, clammy figure. "Are you alive?" But for all his efforts, he got nothing more than a single sigh.

Satisfied that Karl still lived, if barely, Danny carefully repacked his supplies, whispered "I'll get help," and jogged down the rocky incline.

* * *

><p>"I'm sure Apollo and Mr Baresi will find her," the President smiled nervously, trying to assure herself as well.<p>

"Then spreading the word and locking down the ship quietly will help everyone do just that," the Commander stated as he retook his seat at the table.

"You think that little girl's a Cylon," Roslin deduced from his silence, somber even for this rare moment when it was just the two of them alone.

"I don't have the luxury to assume otherwise."

She nodded, accepting his perspective was necessarily more suspicious, pessimistically utilitarian.

"But I also don't want to have a child, real or robot, shot on my ship, if we can help it. Bad for morale; and none of us needs that kind of story circulating, especially given how jumpy everyone is now they know about the human form Cylons."

"And if she is a threat, a live prisoner can talk…," she surmised correctly, based on his quick, stoic glance.

He tapped his pen on a photo of the more directly implicated transmitter, redirecting their attention to that hunt. "How are we going to search the entire fleet, and seize these dolls without raising the alarm with any other Cylons, or our own civilian population? Taking toys from kids at gunpoint will not go over much better than shooting one…"

Knowing he didn't have the bodies to manage this task, beyond having no stomach for strong-arming through makeshift playrooms on every ship, Roslin also appreciated that he understood the fickle public mood enough to tread lightly. "Well, we can't tell the truth we suspect, and expect people to just pass them in, without creating a panic. Back home, we'd've just done a gift drive, with special requests for dolls…"

Neither needed speak the fact that every child was needy here and now; that collecting toys from people, just to hand them back out one deck or ship over, was obviously just pointless.

"And Zarek and any other critics will be happy to play up our taking away, or asking for children's playthings. The threat will be one more failing of my administration and your security…"

Adama nodded, as he scribbled a note on his pad, happy to let her worry about the formal politics in every situation. As his pen began to run dry mid-sentence, he shook it, and looked around for another.

Roslin held out her own note taker, which he accepted with a nod, promising, "Just until I can get a refill, until we run out of those…"

She snatched the pen back, her eyes lighting up, "That's it! We don't have to get the dolls—at least not at first, if we can keep them from working."

Startled and hand still outstretched, Adama waited for her to explain herself.

"We get the batteries…," she smiled. "Some kind of effort to conserve and collect power cells for critical safety equipment, or something –not an entirely outrageous goal."

He lowered his hand, and _might_ have nodded his head in slight admiration for the idea. "Assuming we can get _all_ the batteries from _all_ the dolls on _all_ the ships, that still leaves these transmitters out there waiting for any handy power source…"

Roslin handed the pen back to him before sitting back with a smug grin, "I didn't say it was perfect. Perhaps we can have some trusted individuals also begin looking for the dolls at the same time, perhaps just the captains of ships with children aboard. Have them trade the dolls for something from your gift shop? It's a start!"

Adama nodded, and might have smiled, very slightly and briefly.

* * *

><p>"I'm just saying you'd didn't need to freak out like that when you made the doll connection," Ran said sternly as he and Lee headed down to the pilots' lounge. "You had <em>me<em> scared at first; no wonder she got spooked and ran off."

"Sorry," Lee offered sincerely, both for the impact of his actions on the child, and on the self-beating his friend was likely now giving himself over letting her get away.

As if on cue, Baresi shrugged, admitting, "I should have realized she was that upset, and been watching her more closely…"

"You can't watch all of them, all of the time," Lee reached out to give a reassuring pat, before pulling his hand back. He didn't want his friend to be too hard no himself; but also didn't want to encourage more physical connection than necessary, lest he send false signals. "Just like none of us could have seen the doll for what it was…"

"_If_ the doll was even involved," Ran corrected. "You don't really think that Jina was in on it, do you? I mean, she's eight, for gods' sakes."

"I don't know; we had some… equally unbelievable revelations about how the Cylons pulled off their initial attack. I'll be happy just to ask her about where she got the doll and who from…"

"I'm just grateful that Tigh didn't give shoot-on-sight orders, as much as he was going on about her being a threat. It's like he thought _she_ was a Cylon..." Baresi stopped abruptly in the corridor. "Oh gods, Lee! You don't think she actually is one? That I've been teaching and caring for a— I never did actually meet any parents!"

Lee turned back, and stepped directly into his mortified face. "Ran, look at me. I need to you hold it together! I don't know, and right now, I don't really care. Either way, we need to find her to get some answers. And we've convinced everyone that your plan is the best way to draw her out, regardless."

Baresi took a deep breath, bit his lip, and nodded. He had just made exactly that argument to the two highest authorities in the non-land.

"Bigger question," Lee pointed out as he started them walking toward their destination, "Is why you thinkKara is going to be key to finding Jina?"

"I'm more concerned about her convincing to help. That's why you're here: Since having you on the search will probably just scare Jina away more, you can help most by helping me persuade Starbuck…"

* * *

><p>The loud burst of laughter was followed by an open-mouthed, incredulous stare when she realized they weren't joking. "You're serious? You want me," she pointed to herself with the lit cigar, "to take point on searching for Runaway's… runaway?" She looked around to see if the other gathered pilots had heard the ridiculous request.<p>

"Starbuck…," the CAG began.

"Can't you just set out some candy, and grab her when she comes for it?" Thrace continued to disbelieve, and be amused, that they were so desperate or deluded. "We've got stims; they look like candies. The doc probably has sedatives too.…"

"She's not some kind of rodent," Ran dismissed with no small disbelief, especially when Lee looked hopeful at the idea.

"I don't know! I'm a pilot, not a nanny."

"Besides, we'd be more likely to attract hungry crew than kids…," Baresi finished his argument against the idea, before explaining the odd recruitment effort. "Look, we've sealed off the flight pod entirely, and are carefully searching it. But I think that, if she really was trying to get away, she'd've probably moved faster and farther than that, by the time we realized she was gone."

"Ran thinks she's most likely to head in the direction of the active hangar deck—she's been there before, and might be trying to find her doll herself."

"And I fit into your hunt, how exactly?"

Baresi smiled, and not in way that Thrace found the least bit encouraging...

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_**Battlestar Galactica**_**: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER EIGHT<strong>

"Attention: Pass the word to Kara Thrace. Lieutenant Kara Thrace. Report to the port side hangar deck immediately, to claim the doll found in your viper. Lieutenant Kara Thrace report to the port side hangar deck to claim the doll found in your viper."

The announcement rang through every space on the _Galactica_, appearing to call a forgetful pilot back to her ship and a forgotten toy. But it really just pissed off that proud pilot—both at her friends for imposing on her to play the sad role, and maybe more at herself for agreeing. She'd get them, and anyone who gave her any grief for the false story.

Having been coached explicitly by the boys _not_ to express her irritation at the situation, she instead attempted to put on a genuine smile and relieved demeanor, as she slowly made her way to the hangar. "I am sooooo glad they found the doll that's named for me," she stage whispered with obviously false enthusiasm, looking down side corridors and into corners as she walked. "I know a little girl who will also be very happy they found little… 'Kara' too!"

She was going to get this lost kid, and then she was going to make the lives of Apollo and Runaway miserable.

* * *

><p>Apollo had been relegated to the CIC, where he was very unlikely to be encountered by the on-the-run young one. He also knew that it was also so that he could be ready to help should the girl's disappearance become a genuine security threat.<p>

While the Commander met with the President to consider the larger Fleet implications, Colonel Tigh was happy to avoid that responsibility, and instead to coordinate the search for this pesky kid, hopefully as a precursor to shipping them all out, permanently.

Chief Tyrol and his crew had moved through the hangar, locking down everything explosive, more generally dangerous to the ship, and/or otherwise visible from and enticing to a child's perspective. The last criterion came at the request of Commissioner Baresi, who, with the support of the CAG, had also insisted that they open all the viper cockpits. With that interesting sweep done and trap set, the deck had then been cleared for a loudly announced "lunch" break, while the teacher had hidden himself along the upper gangway, with a small radio and a good view. The Chief and several armed soldiers had also remained, out of sight—as the just-in-case failsafe, should the little girl prove more dangerous than darling.

They all waited, weary and watchful, while security teams swept other areas of the ship, large and small, in case they'd miscalculated the little one's intent, bearings or speed.

* * *

><p>Growing nauseated at her own forced cheerfulness, Starbuck narrated her entrance to the hangar deck, knowing she had two audiences—one definitely armed, one probably snotty. "Yay! I'm here... In the hangar… To get the 'little Kara' doll… That was left for me… by my friend…" She had to check the child's name she'd scribbled in her palm, not really caring enough to put it to memory. "My friend, Jina! Who will be sooooo happy to see 'little Kara' again too!" She swallowed, rolled her eyes and glared into the upper reaches of the space, where she knew eyes and cameras likely didn't transmit to her, the laughter of those watching. But she knew it was happening. <em>They owe me big time!<em>

Still, she had been given an assignment; and the sooner she tracked down the slobber-engine, the sooner she could get on with her business, payback and otherwise.

"Now… where did they put the dolly?" she called sweetly, as she concentrated on peeking under, around, behind and into any space a small person might squeeze themselves.

Seeing nothing, she continued to talk sweetly into the room, and to check work stations, equipment and open vipers, as she moved down the bays. _I am gonna be even more pissed if this whole thing's been for nothing_, she thought, her irritation beginning to overtake her cooperation. _Runaway better be right about her coming here, or _I'm_ gonna be the one to kill some people._

For several minutes, and a growing portion of the hangar's length, she found nothing. And she was beginning to run out of nice things to say. So she began to pick the number of remaining planes she'd check fruitlessly before ending this farce; and that internal count dropped considerably with every empty spot she checked.

Reaching the viper with her own name on it, she moved up the first few steps of the ladder knowing her endpoint was looming. But from the first glance into the familiar seat, she realized she wasn't goimg to be lucky enough to get away without being further involved.

"Frak me," she whispered, and turned out toward wherever the observation teams might be. She raised one finger to her lips, gestured with an exaggerated sweep into the open fighter cabin, and then held her hand up to "stop" the watchers from doing anything, at least yet.

Looking down into the cockpit, she shook her head at the open emergency survival kit on which now rested rows of tight curls, a pair of closed eyes and a mouth smeared with chocolate. "Hey," she repeated with more and more volume, and finally a poke. "Hey, kid!"

The girl awoke with a start, both a little confused at where she was and frightened for having been found by one of the grown-ups.

"You ate my candy bar," the pilot observed flatly, as Jina sat up cross-ways in the cramped space.

"They lost my doll, then said she was here. But she's not."

_No remorse; just a single purpose._ Starbuck had to admire this kid's drive and fearlessness.

"So you ran off from your playmates just to find your doll?"

The little girl's resolve seemed to melt a little at thinking back before her cross-ship quest. She twisted her fingers in her lap, and whispered, almost as if she knew they were being observed. "The Apollo was mad at me for leaving my dolly in the fighter ship. And you never want to have a god mad at you; bad things happen…"

_The Apollo,_ Starbuck had started to laugh at the 'god' misunderstanding. But with the last line, the girl looked up at her, and she suddenly wasn't sure whether it was a superstition, or a threat.

"Are you going to tell them where I am?"

Eager not to draw this out, but amused and intrigued by this small bundle of directness, Thrace decided to have a little fun. "Well, you are in my bird, and you did eat my emergency candy bar, and there are a lot of other people worried about you..."

"Is Mr Baresi mad too?" Jina worried aloud.

"He's more… concerned," Starbuck shook her head, adding loudly to the heights, "Because he could get into a LOT of TROUBLE for losing a CHILD! But, I think he'll be more focused on the fact that you're OK, that we found you."

Jina still looked unconvinced, as her question hadn't been answered directly.

Losing interest in what was turning into a pediatric counseling session, Thrace moved to wrap up, "Tell you what… Why don't we call him from here, and let him know that you're alright. I'll even let you flip the switch, if you'll wipe off those… sticky hands first." She handed Jina a rag to clean herself up, and then pointed to a do-nothing-without-power toggle on the main control board. "If you flip that switch, we can radio Mr Baresi, to let him know that you found me, and we're all OK."

Distracted and happy to be involved in operating the spaceship, Jina hastily dragged the cloth across her face, and knelt in the seat so that she could just reach the indicated switch.

"Now, you're going to flip that one, and then you'll have to talk REALLY LOUD," she shouted upwards, "because without your flight helmet on, we're relying on the speakers and mics here in the hangar. You'll introduce yourself, ask for Mr Baresi, tell him you're with me at the viper, and ask him to bring down THE _NEW_ DOLL HE HAS FOR YOU." She grinned smugly to herself, at that unplanned addition to the plan.

With the switch pointed out to her, Jina tapped it and spoke the words mouthed to her, "Mr Baresi, this is Jina McGavin. Do you copy?"

Starbuck motioned her to speak louder, and repeat herself.

"Mr Baresi! This is Jina McGavin! Do you copy!" she shouted as instructed.

"Uh, Jina McGavin…," a familiar voice echoed through the room from somewhere high above. "This is Mr Baresi on the Battlestar _Galactica_. We do copy. What is your location?"

The child's amazed grin matched the undertones of suppressed laughter in her teacher's voice, and an errant snicker from another point on the upper gangway. With the door opened, she was off-prompts immediately, "I'm with the lady fighter pilot you don't like in her viper. She said you were looking for me, and had a new doll for me?"

Glaring at first, Thrace then mouthed an additional line to her, with a wink.

"And that you couldn't be mad at me… because you owe Starbuck… big time."

"I'm glad you're safe," the voice didn't take the bait. "Stay with Lt Thrace—tell her 'thank you'; and I'll be there shortly to take you back to the class."

"OK, Mr Baresi!" she remembered to shout. "See you soon!"

Thrace nodded her to kill the connection, and then matched the quickly returned smile grinning up at her. Still smudged with her only remaining chocolate bar…

"Thank you, missus fighter pilot, mam," ingrained and occasionally remembered manners bubbled out.

"There is _really_ no need… to call me 'missus' or 'mam,'" Starbuck balked. The bile-taste was rising in her throat again, as she realized she was back to interacting alone with the tiny person until Baresi and the others decided to come out of hiding.

Thankfully, they were faster, and thus more merciful, than she would have been.

"Mr Baresi!" Jina shrieked with joy, as she saw him coming down the ladder from the upper levels. She scampered past and down Thrace, as if she were the ladder, and bolted across to her approaching teacher.

He swept her up in a fierce hug, as Chief Tyrol his crew, and the apparently notified Captain Adama began trickling in from other entries. The latter motioned the Marines to lower, but not put away, their weapons.

"The missus said you had me a new doll?" Jina prodded, eagerly and shamelessly, as she guided him back to Thrace, who leaned, smug and cross-armed against her ship.

Starbuck looked expectantly at the teacher, and spared a scornful glance to the approaching CAG, who was shaking his head in complete belief at the havoc she'd managed to set up via the impressionable child.

"Yeah, about that, Jina," Baresi said with a purse of his lips.

"We have her right here," interrupted Tyrol, as his returning crew passed something up from the back of the small, gathered crowd. He bent down in front of the girl, and gently held out a lop-sided, lumpy, patchwork, but basically humanoid figurine. "Some of my team, they made this one-of-a-kind doll with little bits of extras from around the _Galactica_—all perfectly child-safe," he added, with a nod to the teacher.

"She's been our mascot, our friend here on the hangar deck for a little while. But as busy as we've gotten, we just don't have time to take care of her like she needs; and we've been hoping we find a brave, new friend for her. Now, Jina, I know she's not your original dolly; and I'm sorry again that we can't bring… 'Kara' back for you. But we hope that she can be your friend too, and that you can give her a better home than here in this big fighter garage."

Her eyes had only grown bigger, as her head nodded and her hands began to inch forward, barely able to wait through the big man's long talk.

Seeing she wasn't going to need more convincing, the Chief asked for clear confirmation. "Do you think you can do that? Will you do that?"

The grab, and squeeze, and grin, and skirt-adjusting that followed was taken as a resounding 'yes' by everyone watching.

Almost everyone. "You're really just _giving_ her another doll, after all she's done?" Thrace gawked, back to being indifferent and incredulous.

"We should have found the doll before the patrol went out…," the Chief shrugged, still smiling at Jina's cradling her new acquisition and showing her teacher all about it.

"She ate my last candy bar!" Thrace pointed out.

"We found her a doll; we'll get you a replacement chocolate," Lee promised, trying to keep the focus on the actual child rather than the underage behavior.

With a smirk, Thrace nodded, and began to back away. _Soon_, she mouthed toward the CAG and the Commissioner as she went, a two-fingered point from narrowed eyes toward them, to let them know "this" was far from done.

Not caring about Starbuck's inevitable return to too cool dismissals and threats, Baresi watched Jina relish the doll, as if it were her just-opened birthday wish. "What are you going to call her?"

"Hmmm," the student mimed thinking very hard, before revealing with certainty and pride, "I don't think _she_ can talk; but I know her name is Kacey."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Another shorter chapter, I know; but that's just some needed pacing, as some threads come together, or twist further. Let me know what you think, and watch for more soon!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Battlestar Galactica**_**: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER NINE<strong>

The haze began to lift gradually, as Helo slowly became aware of muggy air, a light itch on his thigh, a slight pressure on his hand, and a low mumbling nearby. More generally, he felt better than he had before he'd… But he wasn't sure how long he'd been out: minutes? Hours? Blinking a few times, he realized that the dimness around him that would not clear, was not his vision, but rather a lack of actual light in the sky. Was it dawn? Dusk? How long _had_ he been out?

Movement at his side drew him quickly from his questions. Sitting there was Danny, eyes closed, holding his hand, and speaking too quietly to be understood. Just beyond the muttering man, Helo noticed an open, large medkit—one they certainly had not had earlier.

"Danny" he asked, pushing out the words as he stirred more generally, checking that the rest of his body would respond.

A tighter grip, big eyes and a wide smile greeted his sign of life. "Karl!"

"What are you doing?" Helo asked, nodding toward the held hand, and meaning the muttering.

"Asking God to make you better."

"How long have I been out?"

"The rest of yesterday, and all night. It's morning," Danny nodded toward the lightening sky.

"Wha…?" Helo smarted, wondering how exposed they'd been by his unconsciousness and immobility. He glanced around, sure he'd find centurions above, below and all around them. But there was no sign of pursuit, much less imminent capture.

Just a very relieved young man, beaming at him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep so much…," Helo offered, almost automatically, checking himself over to confirm his feeling better than he had the day before. Not great, but certainly better than he had in days. "How?" he asked aloud, looking down at the new medkit.

"When you wouldn't wake up, I went down to the crashed ship, and found a box with the same markings as yours," Danny pointed to Helo's original and to the new, bigger medical kit. "I put some pills into candies, and got you to swallow them. And I stuck one of the needles into your leg, like the pictures in the box, and like you do."

The open bottles of vitamins and painkillers, and a vial of anti-radiation serum sat atop the open supply carrier. If Danny hadn't overdosed him on any one or some combination of them, the good care and sleep might just explain his relatively better condition. It had certainly done him more good than anything else he'd tried thus far…

"And…," Danny looked down, suddenly sad, or guilty, or both, despite his initiative, "_I_ ate some candy too… I'm sorry, Karl. I was sooo hungry; and I didn't have anything else. Please don't be angry. I was quiet, and I stayed down, but…"

"Hey," Helo grinned, catching Danny's flailing hand, "It's OK. You did good; you did _very_ good. I'm impressed. You deserve a little reward; and I do feel a lot better…"

Danny's face shifted to match his friend's smile, both in contrast to a slow drizzle that began around the tree under which they huddled.

"I'm a little hungry too," Helo admitted—another good sign of improved health. "And if the medkit survived the crash, some emergency rations probably did too. How about you help me down there, and show me exactly where you found the medicine?"

Expecting even more happiness at the promise of food, Helo was surprised when Danny shook his head adamantly and looked away, explaining, "No; there's… there's someone in there. But they were… hurt." He pointed to his own midsection. "It's a lot of blood. It was-" His eyes clamped shut; and he clearly couldn't move past the image he remembered.

"It's OK, buddy. I'm sorry you had to see that. Tell you what, you help me down, and then you can stand lookout while I check for food and other useful things? You'll watch for Cylons, and let me know if you see anything coming our way."

Danny nodded that he could do that; so Helo helped him gather up their things and, his strength thankfully still holding, work their way down the steep bank.

The transport, which looked basically like a scaled up and longer raptor, seemed to have hard landed—_very_ hard landed, rather than fallen out of the sky. It had probably been trying to get to, or out of, the nearest Colonial military airfield, before being caught by the undoubtedly faster and more maneuverable Cylon fighters. _Poor bastards never had much of chance; but they'd had to try…_

The ground and vegetation destruction suggested that it may have hit the incline farther up, and then slid down to its final resting place in a compact debris field. Badly damaged, some parts had been burning on descent or shortly thereafter; but it was clearly recognizable, if in unpretty pieces.

Limping less, Helo settled Danny in the treeline with clear views up the embankment and across the crash site. "You can see me most anywhere I go in there; but I need to you to watch above us for any sign of trouble. If you see anything, just whisper my name—don't shout. Got it? I'll be right back…"

Leaving his lookout looking anxious but obedient, he glanced around himself, and then slowly moved into the quiet, but more open-to-the-elements wreckage. Almost immediately, he came across the crewman whose body had so bothered Danny. At first glance he seemed to be crawling out of a particularly mangled part of the transport; but looking further, you could see that he extended no further down than the waist. And the bugs and other small animals were clearly at work on what was left.

With a silent prayer for the man's soul, Helo looked around, trying to make sense of the crash pattern, to figure out which parts of the oversized raptor were which. One set of emergency supplies would be at the cockpit area, where the dead pilot was—also crushed. But under normal circumstances the ship would have had a second crewmember, and a second set of supplies, which Danny might not have known to recover all of.

Picking his way through the warped and burnt metal as the soft rain picked up, his eye was caught by a familiar symbol peeking through a layer of soot. Unable to move the partially crushed case itself, he carefully opened it as far as he could, and managed to pull out four seemingly intact claymore explosives, and a detonator wand. A little further away, he found a few clips for his pistol—some usable, some blown by heat or impact. A few more steps, and he nearly tripped over some parts of the second crewmember, whose remains had apparently been found, sampled and then abandoned by some larger local fauna. He offered another whispered word of peace, as there was nothing more he could do except accept what gifts he could salvage from this death.

Indeed, toward what was once the rear of the airborne ferry, he found the remnants of the bench under which the second set of emergency supplies would be located. However, between him and it was a large piece of crumpled airframe. The high tensile beam and attached ribbing would have prevented him from reaching the locker, had they not been cleanly bent away from the stores, exactly far enough to reach in and pull out the rations case and the survival tent from beside the empty medkit slot.

No sign of an outward-facing blast to have turned it out so neatly; no sign the beam had been caught on and wrenched away by the crash; and nothing else immediately around it had been twisted as had the imposing beam. It had just been peeled back precisely where it needed to be for his purposes. So, however it had happened, Helo thanked the gods that the supplies were accessible.

The trick now would be to carry it all, especially the explosives. But they had Danny's bag, and could repack some items after partaking in some blessed, if bland, freeze dried foods. Dining on the go beat fleeing with nothing…

"Karl!" Danny whispered from off behind him.

He turned toward the small voice enough to see a single finger, pointed back up the bluff. Dropping low, and looking up, he saw them—two quick gleams in the soggy day's dim. Centurions! And they were moving around the approximate spot where he and Danny had settled in for their overnight rest.

_Frak!_ Just when they were getting a leg up… _Think,_ Helo told himself, as he waved Danny to stay low and silent. He knew that, unless the toasters could jump directly down from the height above, they would need a little time to make it down to the obvious and intriguing remnant of human technology. However they headed down, he knew it wouldn't be enough for him and Danny to get away. Not without some help…

* * *

><p>Grimacing, he squatted down beside Danny, and handed him a medium-sized rock, telling him to "Hold this," while he quickly consolidated all the newfound supplies into Danny's satchel and the new medkit. He was just finishing when Danny poked him and grunted toward the approaching sounds of mechanics and tumbling rocks.<p>

Taking the shortest route down, the two Centurions were heading directly for the transport, and might easily continue on to the hiding humans. With gun barrels for hands, they lumbered into the wreckage, and began confidently hunting through it for the live prey suggested by fresh, rain-filling footprints.

Motioning Danny to move off in the opposite direction, Helo followed as deeply into the woods as he could without losing a sightline into the crash. Just before he lost the visual entirely, he pitched the handy stone into the heart of the site, and smiled to himself as he heard the whine of quick shifts and movement toward that sign of life. Shifting Danny's march through a thicker stand of trees, he clicked the wand in his other hand.

He didn't know exactly how many mines had still been in the case he dropped the activated one back into, and he couldn't be sure what other combustibles were nearby in the downed bird; but it was audibly and visibly enough to add a small shower of Colonial camouflage and Cylon chrome to the day's rain.

While the explosion had taken care of their immediate threats, and could be mistaken for simply a secondary explosion in the crashed plane, it would certainly attract the attention of any other toasters anywhere nearby. And so, the satisfied grin dropping from his face, Helo urged Danny on, "We need to move faster. Go!"

* * *

><p><em>tbc...<em>


	10. Chapter 10

_**Battlestar Galactica**_**: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER <strong>**TEN**

"After… Mr Baresi convinced Colonel Tigh to let him handle the questions, she came out from under the table that the Colonel had frightened her under."

Not looking at his unrepentant Executive Officer, the Battlestar's Commander focused the report, "And she explained what?" His interest was clearly in the interrogation's product, not its process.

"She received the doll as a prize from a 'pretty blond woman' she didn't know, at a street fair her family attended in town," Lee continued his report, as Baltar shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There were also some trucks or planes—she didn't remember which, given to the boys. I'm guessing that once she had her doll, she didn't pay much attention to anything else…"

"So not only may there be other dolls like hers at large, we may also be looking for some other toy vehicles too?" the President sighed.

"Ran is going to see if he can get her to remember more details about the toys or the festival, to help us narrow down a search. But even if she can give us a general idea, I don't see that we have much of a choice but to search out any possible toys if we're confident that the dolls were the tracking device."

Whether they focused on the logistical issues or the joy-killing aspect of the task, they all imagined the chore of and reaction to ripping every potential threat—every single toy, from the hands of children across the fleet.

Nonetheless… "We can't ignore the risk of that possibility. If the Cylons were behind this, we can bet that two little girls on two Colonies weren't their only two carriers," the Commander deduced.

"What did her parents do?" Roslin asked, considering a slightly more focused angle. "Perhaps Jina, and the little girl on the botanical cruiser, were singled out to receive the transmitter doll for a particular reason."

"We don't know about Cami; but Jina's parents worked in retail and dentistry," her senior aide noted off his paperwork. "No known military, government or other vital infrastructure connections. Do you really think the Cylons would go through the trouble of handing out beacons this haphazardly?"

"Not without purpose, Mr Keikeya," the Commander corrected. "Expecting some humans would be missed in the initial strikes on the Colonies, a large number of even randomly distributed transmitters would be very useful in tracking down survivors. And since most adults will almost instinctually preference survival of children over themselves, and children will be likely to cling to non-essential items... It's actually a brilliant method of planting beacons where they'll most likely remain with survivors, and out of suspicion."

"'Brilliant' is not the first word that comes to my mind, Commander," Roslin nearly hissed. She obviously wasn't prepared to utter whatever was her first choice...

"And it means they understand us as a species far better than we do them," Adama nodded grimly.

"All this is still assuming she's not knowingly in on it, that she's not a frakking Cylon herself," Tigh reminded. "We ought to have her in the brig, just in case."

"Which is why we sealed off the area the children are in, and have guards posted," the CAG reminded.

"Doctor," the President turned to the vague-eyed scientist, "It seems we've yet again come back to the imminent need for your detector. Please tell me you've made some progress, so that we can settle the question of this little girl's humanity."

Glancing about at all the expectant faces, the doctor smiled nervously and smoothed his ruffled hair. As usual, he seemed like he was both just back from some mental excursion, and also about to flee the room physically. With an obvious swallow and another uncomfortable grimace, he explained, "I appreciate the urgency of my work; I do. For many reasons. But, I'm sure you all understand the importance of doing it well, of getting it right, given how much is riding on the test results. If I were to rush it, and return a false positive on this little girl…"

"Your concern for the children is admirable, Doctor," the senior Adama cut off his rambling. "But your detector would also be invaluable in exonerating her, and allowing us to move on in our search for the real threats among us. Even if it's not massively scalable, we need _something_ on this particular subject. And soon."

He nodded to his Lieutenant, who slid an envelope down the table toward Baltar. "Here's a sample of her hair that was clipped while questioning her; if you need live samples, Mr Gaeta will coordinate with Mr Baresi to get you access. Either way, I expect a conclusion within 24 hours."

The Commander continued the shift from talk to action, closing his folders, and not making eye contact with—and thus not accidently inviting feedback from—anyone around the table. "While we will go after the batteries, we'll hold the more overt confiscation of the dolls until we can also look for other suspect toys. No need to tip off our suspicion of them until we know more. And, Madame President, pending a decision on the girl's threat level, I would appreciate your staff's expediting the transfer of all the children to a civilian ship." He stood, "We'll all keep one another updated, and reconvene as needed or with Dr Baltar's test results."

With a nod to Roslin, he turned from the table, the meeting ended. But before he exited, he stopped and faced his son, as the others gathered their items. He obviously also wanted everyone to know of the other security effort underway. "Captain, do you have that new pilot?"

* * *

><p>"Captain Adama!" the familiar voice echoed up the corridor, breaking his dejected, distracted walk toward the ready room. Lee also knew it well enough to recognize the anger woven into the volume.<p>

Not waiting on the CAG to come to a full stop, to turn around or even to answer his initial question, Baresi launched into his objection. "I understand that there was just a meeting to discuss the outcome of Jina's questioning? Seeing the manner in which Colonel Tigh seemed intent on conducting the interrogation, I really have to protest excluding the Youth Commissioner from a discussion of that _youth_." He was clearly angry, and working hard to keep his words formal and arguments, logical.

Knowing the protest was just as much from a friend feeling betrayed, Lee matched the official tone and structure to bolster himself against his own friendly guilt. "You'll have to ask the President, as I didn't make the invitations; and the Commander only asked _military_ personnel." The non-civilian emphasis suggested a career change that could have gotten Baresi included.

But the former pilot wasn't biting on that bait. "And you didn't have a spare moment to let me know you all were going into executive session, or to challenge them to wait until I'd gotten a frightened child settled back into the safety of her peers?"

Lee resumed his walk toward the pilots' ready room. "I was doing my job, just like you were doing yours. Just like we both are now…"

Ran jogged up beside him, not willing to let the argument go, but also not keen on sharing it publically, for either of their sakes. "You've been all business and duty since the morning after we got here. Un-Apollo-ly awkward and distant. What gives?"

"A lot's happened," Lee reminded. "And not all good."

"LJ!" Ran barked, grabbing his arm. "What is going on… _here_," he pointed between the two of them.

Lee scowled at the throwback moniker, "You haven't called me that since we were children." He didn't seem to appreciate the nostalgic name.

"Because you haven't acted like a child since then," Baresi pointed out, hands on hips in what had become an instinctive 'you've been a bad boy' stance. "Is this because I won't fly with you? Because dad's disappointed you haven't been able to catch this fighter jockey prize?"

Lee grabbed Ran by the shirt and pulled him down a hallway, off the beaten path and away from public view and hearing. Pinning him lightly against the bulkhead, he loosed his dilemma on the person whose decision could resolve the most significant, non-life-threatening stressor in his life over the past few days. "Gods know we could use more good pilots, Ran," he confessed angrily. "And yes, after the President's smart, proactive move to draft you into her service unilaterally, my _commanding officer_ has ordered me directly to get you back in the uniform. But, as you've said, I don't know if that's the best place for you, if that's where I want you to be."

The initial shock fading from his friend's newfound physicality, Ran repeated his question to exactly that point. "So where _do_ you want me, Lee?" He stepped up into his friend's face, bravado to bravado, demanding an answer, a commitment. "Everyone else has been clear on their expectations of where I belong, of whom I should be with; but we haven't heard from you, the notoriously opinionated Leland Joseph."

Lee felt eyes beyond his friend's on him, as well as the weight of the military needs, the species' continuance and its smallest members' betterment. And here, his closest friend was sticking him with the same life-changing demand, bringing all the worlds' fates down on him. He needed Ran's support in these tough times, not to have his friend be another source of pressure. Because of all the competing demands, he needed this relationship, and all the comfort it offered, more than ever. "If you really care about me, you'll-" Lee blurted, his rush of urgent crisis fading.

"If I- _What_?" Ran cut him off, genuinely shocked by his friend's entirely unexpected shift to feelings, not about their previously shared profession, but about Terran himself.

Not how he'd meant that exclamation, Lee realized he'd stumbled into yet another unresolved issue between them—one he was even less clear on or comfortable talking about. But, he'd said it, and perhaps airing it out would bring some clarity to other issues. "Starbuck told me about your crush on me." Lee shuddered, in involuntary reaction to her implications, "You're like a brother…"

"Kara…," Ran seethed and shook his head. "Well, keeping in mind that Starbuck only shares for her own wicked mischief, in this case… she's also right."

Lee gaped openly at him, not at all expecting and certainly not wanting the confirmation he'd just been offered.

Understanding he'd delivered the verbal equivalent of an uppercut, Ran continued, quickly and quietly. "Not that you ever paid me that kind of attention, or that it ever would have come to anything; so… But if you really want to have this out here and now, I really wish you'd talk to _me_ about _my_ feelings—then or now, good or bad, rather than talking about anybody's feelings with _Kara… Thrace_…"

Baresi noticed how his final four words had broken through Lee's shock, to expose something deeper—fleetingly shown, but far more powerful than his reaction to Ran's admitted boyhood bromance. And his own mouth dropped opened, aghast that Lee really cared what Kara thought because, "Oh gods, you _LIKE_… Starbuck!"

It was instantly clear that he'd pushed Lee too far by gaining, much less speaking aloud, that amorous insight. The sharp pain at his jaw was his immediate confirmation that he'd not pushed his friend beyond arm's reach.

"Good for you," he laughed quietly, as he slid down the wall, and as the head pilot stormed away. "She's twice the man I am…"

* * *

><p><em>tbc...<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_**Battlestar Galactica**_**: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ELEVEN<strong>

"We were just lucky you noticed the centurions when you did, and to find the transport and its supplies in the first place," Helo smiled as they continued to move quickly away from the now twice-destroyed Colonial ship.

"My sister said I wasn't even supposed to be born in the first place; she said that makes me lucky," Danny recalled without much joy. "Or maybe it's just all been all part of His plan."

"Whose plan?" Helo asked.

Danny just looked up into the forest canopy and dreary sky, as two Raiders streaked overhead, headed in the direction of the smoke likely still drifting up in the distance behind them. "I'm worried about my sister," he recalled instead. "Can we _please_ go check on her?"

_So many reasons not to_, thought Helo. A long distance now, through territory they knew was full of Cylon activity. And, even if they made it, they were likely to find her fled herself, or worse. So really no reason to try… "It's still too dangerous, buddy. You have the doll she gave you; so you have that to remember her by until you see her again."

"She didn't give it to me," Danny confessed. "She had it to remember where we came from; but I was never to play with it or let it talk. When I ran, I took it so that it couldn't tell the bad people where she was. I shouldn't have stolen it…"

Helo grimaced at more talk about the increasingly creepy doll, and also at more self-critique or budding survivor's guilt, if Danny even understood that he'd likely never see his sister again. Time to change the subject entirely. "You're very good at drawing; when we rest again, why don't you a draw a picture of your sister, so you can keep her close in that way?"

The loving brother smiled, "That's a good idea, even if the rain smears it. She'd think that was funny. Do you have any family, Karl?"

_Not quite the new topic he'd intended…_ "No, Danny," Helo chuckled at the very idea, before realizing he should be thankful that he hadn't left some wife, much less child, behind, in all this. "I don't even have a girlfriend; so no family…" _And the signs aren't favorable for that of late._

"That's too bad," Danny shrugged. "You'll make a great father."

_ Strange, but chipper,_ Helo nodded. _Could've been stuck with worse…_

* * *

><p>No one in the small, makeshift lab looked happy to be there; and the armed and armored marine stood ready to engage anyone who seemed out of line with that norm. Saul Tigh scowled, making no effort to hide his disdain for them all. Terran Baresi tried to put on a pleasant face for this unfriendly authority figure, and an encouraging one for his small charge. Jina McGavin was clearly terrified to be again in the sights of the angry balding man, the stern guard, and now the jittery, big-eyed stranger had taken some blood from her arm.<p>

Gaius Baltar fidgeted with the elaborate machine on the table before him, tapping occasionally on the various keyboards and blinking buttons between pained gazes and forced smiles at the grim gallery watching him. He'd used the single day deadline Commander Adama had given him, to cobble together a "detector" that was sufficiently intricate and yet still suggested functionality. He also knew that, beyond looking the part, it also had to produce an outcome of some kind; he just hadn't had time to work out which specific output demanded of him it would produce.

"While we wait, Doctor," Baresi broke the tense and awkward silence, as he leaned, trying to glance at the various data-filled screened. "And if you'll pardon the interruption, I'm curious as to how your device actually works."

The typing continued for a moment, as if he'd not spoken at all, before Baltar stopped and looked up with a startled, almost threatened look. That, and irritated, seemed to be his default reactions whenever spoken to.

Holding the girl and her new doll in his lap, Baresi took some comfort in the marine's presence, given how on-the-edge this mad genius always appeared. Having gotten the man's attention, he gave some context for his intrusive question. "Lt Gaeta told me that your previous test relied on detecting synthetic traces in cremated remains?"(1)

"Yes. That's correct," Baltar seemed to remember. "In a manner of speaking; but as we are now working with a—a living little angel…," he smiled, reached over and tousled Jina's hair, as one was supposed to when showing affection for children.

Baresi returned to the scientific topic. "So, how is this new process different? Are you able to test radiation sensitivities in the living samples?"

"I understand your curiosity, given the stakes," Baltar politely acknowledged. "But, it really would take too long to explain it simply…"

"We seem to have some time while your lights continue blink in repeating patterns," Baresi observed with his own cold smile. "And, I do have a graduate degree in biological sciences; so, please, try me."

Tigh poorly stifled a chuckle, clearly glad to see someone else sticking it to the odd intellectual.

Baltar's headlighted expression returned, before melting into a calmer, resigned look. "You don't believe this will work," he realized aloud.

_I told you he'd be trouble for you_, the voice tutted in his ear. _None of them believes you; they're looking for a reason to discount you, expose you as a scam. To suspect you…_

Baltar swallowed. In this moment, his brilliance needed to be less about biochemical reactions, and more about persuasive communication. He shook his head, and named the expectations floating in the room. "You want a satisfactory explanation of how it could work, some proof that my detector can detect… And I could certainly try to explain it, Mr Baresi, in a way that you and your own training could understand and appreciate, even if not everyone else could." He glanced at the XO. "But even if I did, you all would still require some tangible evidence of the detector's efficacy; ultimately no one will be satisfied until I can screen out a perpetrator for you. Both to trust the device, and to give you something tangible to act on, you _need_ a culprit…"

He jerked away from them suddenly, as if pulled or pushed.

_Gaius, you're not seriously thinking of labeling her a Cylon?! Just to disprove their distrust of you?_ She'd slapped him, rather hard, across the cheek in case the displeasure wasn't clear in her tone and expression.

Baresi and Tigh exchanged puzzled looks, as Baltar glanced back at them, apparently now blushing.

_We could only be so blessed to have a child; and you'd throw this one to the wolves so casually? I'm disappointed in your fathering instincts._

"No," he gasped, recovering from his visceral reaction to all the demands being made on him. Rather than cornered, he now seemed insulted. "I'm sorry, Commissioner, Colonel; but I can't promise that my detector will give you that satisfaction or scapegoat. Science doesn't work that way; it simply speaks truth. And that truth… is-" He turned dramatically, and tapped a single key on the machine.

The blinking patterns changed dramatically, speeding up at first, and then slowing as the many data columns on the monitors slowly shrank down to fewer and fewer, toward a single, critical conclusion.

As the blinking and scrolling stopped entirely, and the others looked on expectantly, Baltar's shoulders and face finally dropped. "And there we are," he whispered.

"Jina," he turned, "you are… entirely human!"

As the others exhaled in their relief, Baltar lifted the girl out of Baresi's lap, and spun her around as children like to have done, explaining, "You're as human as the rest of us!"

"Human!" Jina shouted, as she mimicked the scientist's repeated term, adding her own giggle to his laughter, more enjoying the light-hearted spin than its cause.

Quickly however, the shared glee spun her outstretched legs directly across the table-top, scattering sparks and pieces of the detector across the far side of the room.

The marine's gun was instantly raised against the danger.

Baltar stopped instantly, mouth hanging open and the girl hanging in his outstretched arms as he took in the smoking, broken ruin of his work.

Baresi jumped up and grabbed Jina from him, whirling her away from the action and toward guard and exit. Shooting the scientist a dark look, he checked her legs for injuries, as the marine looked to his superior officer for instructions or example on how else to react.

Tigh looked almost disappointed that he didn't have a Cylon to shoot, and probably couldn't justify shooting Baltar, at least not with witnesses. Not yet. "Get this cleaned up," he barked. "And get it working again. And less fragile. You've got a Fleet of test subjects to get to…"

Red-faced, he stormed out with his marine in tow, knowing the Old Man wasn't going to be happy with either of the afternoon's outcomes.

Baresi followed, leaving his own damning look at the doctor. Only the exoneration of his student, and her frightened presence, kept him from also sharing a string of profanities.

Baltar couldn't nod acknowledgement or agreement; he just swallowed hard, again, and held himself upright until they'd all filed out, before dropping back into his seat with a long exhale.

Almost immediately, arms draped around his trembling shoulders. _Artfully played, Gaius. They got an answer, not a solution; and you're off the hook for other quick miracles. Now that your little toy is broken. And the child, if she is only one, is free to return to her playthings._

Still on edge from the near disastrous cliffwalk, he pulled away and snapped at his returned companion. "The Cylons massacred how many children back in the Colonies? On the _Olympus Carrier_? Why the sudden concern with one now?"

_Oh, Gaius_, she traced her fingers along his ear, _I'm more interested in what _you_ will do to children, for children, given the chance…_

She pulled his face to hers with one hand, and dropped her other into his crotch. The topic mercifully changed, he let out another long sigh.

* * *

><p>"Commander, we found one," Gaeta whispered loudly as he approached the central console, before catching himself, clearly struggling to maintain his excitement under professional decorum.<p>

Hoping this was an enthusiasm based in passion, not fear, the older Adama needed his young officer to narrow down the "find" among the various searches underway: Another human Cylon, if Baltar had finally gotten his act together? An alternative, if not permanent home for the school children Saul loved so much? Another band of survivors? No; too far out, and too far gone… A clue toward their mythical destination? Or some other suitable new world?

Gaeta brought the hardcopy report around to him. "The captain on the _Cybele_ just reported that they found one of the dolls."(2)

_Oh, that search._ He read, "Doll matching description in recent security bulletin, in possession. Please advise." _Still, it's something…_ "Have them ensure its battery is removed—for the collection; and that it is boxed, sealed and brought here ASAP. Careful handling and plenty of discretion, Mr Gaeta—but not too obviously," he ordered over his glasses. "Then get me the President."

Behind Gaeta, his XO stomped down toward him, a particularly unhappy look on his face.

Deep breath._ One less danger loose in the Fleet; who knows how many to go…_

* * *

><p><strong>NOTES<strong>

1. A version of how Baltar explained his identification method on Leoben Conoy's post-Ragnar Anchorage remains in the _Miniseries_.

2. This Gemenon-based transport, and its passengers, will make its first appearance in _The Plan_ special episode.

_A/N: Sorry for long delay in updates; start of the school is always busy for me, this year especially so! Hoping to pick up the pace more now._


	12. Chapter 12

**_Battlestar Galactica_****: Runaway**

by Mirwalker

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWELVE<strong>

"The doll was found by a crew member sorting garbage; it had no batteries," Adama relayed into the handset, from the handwritten report that had accompanied the cargo transport's secret delivery.

"It was suddenly unwanted?" the President wondered back across the private line. "That seems remarkably convenient, now that we're looking for them."

He couldn't argue that suspicion; and so explained a next step to investigate the concern. "There are about a half dozen children on the ship. The captain said she'd try to inquire delicately about whether any of them had recently misplaced a doll."

"If Mr Baresi's involvement could assist with that, I'd be happy to send him over," she offered. Taking his new role seriously, he had complained about being left out of previous discussions and decisions relating to children. His past career as Colonial officer might make the ship's captain, and the Fleet commander more at ease at the chief executive's indirect involvement in that investigation as well. "What's your gut telling you, Commander? Is this coincidence, or do we have a Cylon agent on that ship getting worried we're onto them?"

"It's too coincidental to ignore, to be sure. But I'd rather not call any additional attention to our inquiry yet, just in case. For that reason, we're not going to Condition One, or jumping, right now; but we are ready to quickly, if needed."

He heard her sit forward at her desk, probably removing her glasses as she nodded and followed through with her critical thinking exercise. "I can't help wonder, why ditch the doll instead of just signaling the Cylons?"

"Because they'd home in and destroy the ship he or she is on?"

"Perhaps; but I meant before now? It seems to have worked so well. If they had a doll, why hadn't they used it already?"

"Maybe they didn't have any batteries."

She chuckled at what she'd learned was his attempt at levity. "Well, good thing we're collecting those then… So we've got at least one more possible transmitter out of service, along with one less possible human-form Cylon." On several levels, she was relieved the little girl had tested negative.

"And one less Cylon detector, don't forget. For the record, Colonel Tight insists it was the Doctor's own carelessness, not the child's. He'd like to put Baltar off as well…"

Roslin chuckled again, this time with a little nervousness, as Baltar's most likely alternative to the _Galactica_ was her own ship. "I expect he's not the only member of your crew wishing for that, Commander?"

"Right now, we need to him to dissect this doll, and find out whether and how the Cylons are tracking us with them."

"Do you think he can do that? He's-," she couldn't quite think of the correct, polite term for his enigma.

"The best we've got," Adama reminded.

"True enough… Well, my thanks again to the crew on the transport, and to you and your people, as always. If I can help with Dr Baltar's rebuilding his detector, or breaking down the doll, or help you with him, please just let me know."

* * *

><p>There were only a few places on the space carrier that Lee could likely be. And when he wasn't in any of the pilot-focused locations, Terran knew of only one other spot he would be.<p>

Entering the huge starboard-most space, he glanced fore and aft before starting toward the tables at the rear. But his eye was caught by something interrupting the otherwise uniform framework of the fore window supports. Moving slowly that way, Ran was aware of how loudly his steps seemed to echo in the old landing bay. But the form in the piping didn't move or otherwise react to his approach.

With no replacement glasses in the fuzzy foreseeable future, it wasn't until he got very close that he could be sure that it was his distant friend, who'd apparently sought refuge in this far, forgotten corner of the ship. To heighten the escape, Lee had also climbed up into the frames supporting the glass, and perched there staring out into the stars, as if on a tree branch in some backyard of old.

Terran came up beside and below him, looking out to see if a particular sight had caught his un-brother's attention this late night. Just slow moving ships and stars, as best he could tell; but he figured this self-imposed time-out was more about avoiding things, than seeking them out. And in this rare getaway mode, the pensive pilot would need to be engaged unilaterally…

"I suppose you've heard? In the morning, we'll be heading to the _Pyxis_. Guess with Jina cleared by Dr Baltar, the Colonel and Commander's patience with us was exhausted..."(1)

Silence.

"I got everyone to bed despite the excitement and worry over the move," he continued. "And, I met Lt Finnegan, who's lead pilot on our transfer flights; he's… very nice, and good with kids. Thank you for arranging that."(2)

Still silence.

"So, I wasn't sure how hectic the morning will be; and I- I didn't want to leave without- I wanted to- Well, I thought you might be here; as best I could tell this is one of the only areas with windows. They're tough to find, windows," he laughed, nervously.

"It's a warship, Ran; not a pleasure liner." Silence broken; ceasefire over.

"Are we at war, then, you and I?" the old friend asked softly, not sure he really wanted confirmation if so. "Because as far as I could tell, we were fine until we both put some cards on the table the yesterday. I was honest, Lee, on all accounts; but all I've gotten since is the cold shoulder. And a bruise. And an eviction notice to boot."

"I had nothing to do with that."

"Happy coincidence then?"

"Coincidence, yes. Gods, you make it sound like everything revolves around either supporting or sticking it to you." Though he remained in place, the angry energy in Lee was clear in face and voice. "News flash: my life and actions don't center on you."

"I gave up on that dream a long, long time ago, Lee," Terran admitted, with no sign of a smile. "And it's been a while since I arranged my life around you…"

That odd turn of the tables finally earned a puzzled looked from the perched pilot.

Taking the engagement as invitation, Ran leaned wearily against the pipework, and continued his confession, "We both went into the service because it was the family business; and because we hadn't figured out any better options. But… I also signed on because it was what my best friend was doing, and because I couldn't imagine being without you. As much as our families went through, my Apollo was there for me. And I tried to be there for him, and intended to keep doing so.

"But you weren't meant for me any more than the uniform was; we weren't gonna work for each other. You met someone, so did I. And he helped me realize that being a viper jockey isn't what I wanted to do with my life, and that Lee Adama couldn't be the one I'd spend that life with. So I wised up, got out, and made a life for myself, Lee—I don't think you can claim I'm guilty of stalking you, or pining away for you. And if you think I'm hoping the end of the world as we knew it is my grand return for you… Well then, who thinks he's the center of the universe?"

Terran squinted up, hoping to see some favorable reaction on his friend's face. But it still just seethed with some powerful emotion, none clear enough to suggest how his attempt at bridge-rebuilding was going.

"So, I'm sorry about Zak, and the worlds' end. I'm sorry that sticks you being the next generation flyboy for your father. And I'm sorry that we both lost people we cared about back home. But I'm not sorry for caring about you, then or now; and I cannot tell you what hope I've gained in knowing you're still here, still out there... And if that affection is so frightening to you, in the middle of all our other problems, then Gods help us. 'Cause we don't have much more than those relationships left."

He sniffled, and just stood there, having extended all the supportive scaffolding he could into gap between them. If the repair was to be completed, Lee would have to build out from his side.

For several moments, the offered information hung between them. Precariously. Painfully.

Finally, the break was at least acknowledged, in what sounded like whispered frustration. "Why didn't you say something sooner? Why did _Kara_ have point it out to me?"

Terran wrapped one arm around a large column, and laughed at that unexpected focus. "Really?! Which upsets you more? That I felt this way, or that she figured it out before you did? Because if it's her, then take it out on her, not me. The point is you weren't _supposed_ to know…"

"Why? Didn't you trust me?"

Sigh. "It isn't a question of trust, Lee. Look, I understood a long time ago, that while you cared about me as a friend, a brother even, you didn't and wouldn't have the same feelings for me. Not ever. And though that didn't change how I felt, I _accepted_ it. And I have relished our friendship for what it is. Beyond that, I didn't see anything to gain from saying something, except the potential to make you uncomfortable and ruin that friendship. And you meant too much to me, you _mean_ too much. I still don't want to lose you. Especially now, when we've already lost so much."

Lee looked down, and then out to the starscape.

Ran noticed the signature flexing of his jaw, as he struggled to decide what to think, say or do. The silent struggle continued for what seemed minutes, again making silence the more uncomfortable…

Finally, Ran stood upright, facing the possible final resolution. "If, in trying to protect our friendship, I've destroyed or damaged it instead, well, then I've succeeded where the Cylons failed, in taking from my life the last significant person in it. At least who stands taller than four feet…" He smiled weakly.

With no reaction still from the pilot, Ran nodded with resignation. "While you're out there taking care of us, remember to take care of yourself too." Patting his hands helplessly at his side, he turned to find his way back into the ship. Each echoing step a closing countdown.

"Ran!" Lee called as he leapt down in a sudden fit of energy.

The teacher turned in place, hopeful but not sure what the renewed connection might mean.

As if he'd acted without really planning beyond his dismount, Lee paused for a moment, wringing his hands at his side. Then, with all the determination of an Adama having made a decision, he walked over, almost nose-to-nose with his departing friend. Breaking eye contact slightly, more to diffuse the standoff than rethink his intention, Lee finished the reconstruction. "Ran, you're my closest friend, my brother—always have been. And as you said, the gods know we all need good relations now. I love you… in that way. So if that really is enough, I don't want to lose you either..."

Having met halfway across the new bridge, both broke into knowing, glad grins. Ran nodded, and stuck out his hand to complete the re-opening ceremony; but instead, Lee pulled him into a fierce hug, cementing more than an amicable agreement. "With all the evils we inflict on one another, I'm glad to have you and your little guys to be fighting for. That's my hope these days."

Relieved and hope restored, Ran reciprocated his own promise, "I won't runaway if you won't. And you're welcome to come and play whenever you like…"

Laughing aloud, they stepped apart, memories of childhood 'space' battles and strategies bring each some comfort. Until Lee's face again dropped, and his gaze turned out through the windows. "Runaway," he chanted, before turning back with wide eyes. "We just have to Runaway, to let them know we know!"

Ran smiled only to match his friend's wild celebration, not at all clear on what FTL jump Lee had just made in his head.

"Come on," Lee insisted, dragging him by his arm, "We have to stop Baltar from dismantling the doll!"

* * *

><p><strong>NOTES<strong>

1. The passenger liner is first named on screen in _The Passage _(3.10).

2. Raptor pilot Lt Jay "Shark" Finnegan will appear in the webisode _The Face of the Enemy_, set between 4th season episodes _Sometimes a Great Notion_ (4.13) and _A Disquiet Follows My Soul_ (4.14).


End file.
